Soul Standing By
by iNyxxis
Summary: Second Book in Catch My Fall Series, set after the end of BtVS and AtS, and after the events of my first book. Centered on Spike and Jade, OC Slayer, and a bare synopsis to avoid spoilers!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Buffy the Vampire slayer and Angel, the characters and universe is the property of Joss Whedon, and is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only, however, the plots and original characters are all mine.

As for the previous novel, all seasons of Buffy The Vampire Slayer and Angel is canon, with some aspects but not all of the comics appearing as well. This comes about three years after the end of Angel, four years after the end of Buffy. Like all my work, this isn't edited at all, so mistakes abound, sorry! I release chapters as I have them, if I took the time to edit everything I wouldn't get very far. This is Book two, so if you're just starting here, you're likely to be very, very confused :p. This continues directly where Catch My Fall ended. Thank you to everyone for reading, your support helps so much and feel free to let me know what you think!

 **1**

He halted at the bottom of the stairs. Then when he got to the car. Then again when he started the bloody thing. Just sat there, keys in the ignition. Three times he nearly went back. Paused. Looked up, knowing he couldn't see her anymore. Three times.

But he had to do this, didn't he? Been a tough bloody decision. He hadn't thought of much else. Just stewing, a little poncy boy caught indecision. Poor little William who was never loved by anyone but his mum now had two Slayers to contend with. One alive, one dead, but the differences between them were so bloody boundless that it was hard to compare. Wasn't like he was holding two packs of smokes, trying to decide which one he should smoke. No, it was so much more sodding complicated than that. The whole thing. Wasn't a left or a right. Was a Alice down the rabbit hole or stepping through that glowing jelly thing that Jade informed him was a 'Stargate', and from one of her favorite shows kind of choice. A whole new territory he had no idea how to navigate.

It was simple once. Oh too bloody simple. He had the hots for Buffy. Spitfire Slayer with the world on her shoulders. A ball of flame, of fire when she moved, when she fought, when she danced. Been a might terrifying awakening when he'd realised he was in love in her, but later he'd think on how it was inevitable. He was drawn to her like a bloody moth to the light. That was how he did the whole love thing. Got pulled in, an irresistible force he couldn't turn away, and it sure as hell didn't leave him unscathed. Fire was a vampire's weakness, and he should have known bloody well by now to stay clear away, but each time, love burned him.

But Buffy was to be the last. Set his sights on her. An unattainable goal that eventually, he thought could only be reached one way: get himself a soul. So he'd done it. Bloody hell, what a mistake that'd been. Thought Angel was a ponce for carrying one 'round for a good hundred years, well he'd done it on purpose. Didn't expect the baggage that came with that little thing, now had he. But through it all, all the torment he'd been forced to relive and all the terrible things he'd done, his love for Buffy hadn't wavered. But any thought that he'd ever earn hers was further and further from his mind. Then she'd said it. Their hands on fire—burning, bloody love again—she'd told him. Hadn't meant it, the bird felt pity for him. But he'd died, and it was over.

Then he was back again. First a ghost. Then a man with the whole world to see, but he'd hesitated. Wasn't sure how to see her again. Had eventually happened, o' course. First thing off the bat she tells him is that she'd known for a while that he was walking the Earth again, but she'd had other things to do. Hit him right in his heart, but he'd delayed seeing her too. Still. Wasn't because he was 'busy' or had sodding other things on his mind. There had always been Buffy, just Buffy. He'd hesitated because like always, he must not be worth it. That maybe he'd made up what she'd said to him, or she'd laugh at him for thinking she meant it. Still, she hadn't wanted to give herself up to him, had her own dynamic, bloody thank you, and there was no room in it for him, less he was a nice, reliable little Scooby and she'd come to him in her own time, maybe.

Hard to live with, harder to accept, but he'd accept it. What else was there in the world for him? Angel'd offered to let him continue on with his merry little band, but Spike'd shrugged off the offer. No thank you. Didn't need Peaches' charity.

Then he'd fled to Haven. Haven, the little dump of a town he was leaving now. Leaving now, and he only looked back once more, at the somewhat ramshackle Apartment building that he'd left her in. There was a screech from his wheels as he tore away. Fast, too fast. If he stayed here any longer, his resolve would crumble again. He tore a cigarette from the package, noting his fingers trembling and cursing at himself for it. After dropping the –buggering—thing once, he jammed it haphazardly into his mouth. He was equally clumsy with the lighter, flickering the damn thing again and again and finally managing. Took in a long draught, let it curl 'round his tongue. Bloody hell, been too long without these. He'd craved for them as nearly much as the blood he'd downed. Bit more convincing was needed to convince Vi that they were _just as much an essential_ , and after she'd rolled her eyes and told them not to smoke them 'round her girls, she'd relented and gotten him a couple packs.

He sucked in an unsteady, smoky breath. He didn't open the window this time. It was sodding cold, and he didn't have to worry about choking on the scent. Bloody no-breather here. And plus, it helped dampen her scent, what still lingered there in the passenger seat. And course he looked over more than once, imagining her being there. But he'd left her. Left her because it was the right course o' action. If there was a right one. Bloody hell, if only there was a right one. An easy, 'oh, this is what you're supposed to do. Here's the sodding layout, take a look at how it's going to change your unlife.'

'Course, nothing ever was that simple.

And life before hadn't been grand. He'd been burned by Buffy one too many times, decided to hole himself away in Haven, a sanctuary for the demons who didn't quite fit in with the sodding, madding crowd. Decided to surround himself with booze, smokes and blood until his annoying soul twinged at him again.

Then he'd met her. Jade. Hadn't exactly been an overwhelming attraction, like a force he couldn't wrench himself away from. She wasn't an unforgiving turbulence of energy. She was just strong, with one of the softest hearts he'd ever seen. She waded through the waters; she didn't overturn the Earth. It didn't burn him just to stand in her wake. And she was a fighter. Yearned for the blood and pain of the battlefield, just as he did. She was gentle of heart, but she was a warrior still.

And she was kind. Silly, sometimes, with all her lacking of self-confidence. Had no thought of self-worth either, although he'd learned that it was her Watcher sister who was mainly to blame for that. She was far from a whole thing. She had her sharp edges and missing pieces. She was a little broken too. Like him. And it wasn't a pull he couldn't resist, but a gentle nudge that he'd assumed was his own decision anyway. And by fate and fights, the easy separation had become less easy.

He wasn't quite sure when they'd crossed the line to becoming something more than acquaintances, to being a pair, like a smaller web of the squads Buffy'd divided her girls into. Tinier squads of teams that were used to fighting together, used to each other, worked well together. He wasn't quite sure when it was obvious Jade'd become his. The only squad he'd needed, a single partner that tagged along. He didn't know when the bonds between them had become hard like steel and expansive, growing roots that dug deeper and deeper.

Wasn't sure if it was when she'd fought just as hard to save his life as her own while her barmy bint of a sister pulled the strings.

If it was when she'd put her own wellbeing to the side so that Dawn could have one last chat with her long-dead mum.

When he'd lashed out at her, due to his own paralyzing fear of Dana, of losing his arms again, how she'd comforted him and not only confronted his nightmare, but tamed it.

If it was when she died, knowing, to save all the Slayers.

Hell, there were so many instances now. He couldn't pinpoint 'the one', the one moment where it was clear and obvious.

He didn't want to call her an infection. She didn't worm her way in. She wasn't a torrent of unstable, rushing passion. She was a slow ebb, gentle and building in her own slot piece of piece. She didn't have to break anything off to make herself fit. She just slid onto the side. Not expecting a thing, not demanding.

And she was in love with him, somehow. He should have known it long ago. He wasn't used to that sort of blind, devoted loyalty. Didn't expect it. He'd been a demon for over a hundred years, and a few years with a soul didn't reset the slate. Be a long time before he could erase that self-loathing that still haunted him. If ever he could. But she didn't remind him of his sins. He didn't see it in her eyes every time he looked at her. There was nothing but trust, unending and unbending. She never looked at him like he was a monster, and maybe he was beginning to believe he could be the man.

So he had two loves now. He had Buffy. The One. The chosen One, even now. She was the first of this generation. She would have been the last, to him. One girl, one woman. Multi-faceted and as merciless as fire. She was a force of nature, and he felt privileged to just be in her presence. But adoration, blind, bloody adoration, that didn't help him stand on his own two feet. It just helped her hash out whatever she wanted from him. Be one of her generals, be her lover, be her fan. Whatever she wanted. That's all he knew from love, whatever she wanted, and let him be ground to dust in the meantime.

As for Jade. Didn't want to say it was love. Not 'til he was sure. But there was substance in his heart that he couldn't deny, that glowed when she was near and withered when she retreated. Or like now, when he left willingly, his wheels bouncing on the road. He opened the window a crack and flicked out the stub, a bit more graceful this time with the next one, no lull and then the cigarette was between his lips again, but it wasn't helping with the whole distracting bit. He was on the precipice of the edge. He'd either slip off or Buffy'd throw him off. The Buffy he was rushing back to at full speed. Or rushing to get it over with so he could find his way on the pavement again, in the opposite direction. Getting back to the girl who loved him, who he'd asked to wait so he could see Buffy.

He was a bastard. Seemed that way every way he turned. Thought he could be faithful, be true. Hadn't realised how far he'd was equally in the hole as Jade was until her unlife had been threatened, her safety had been threatened. That she was thrown down into the abyss and crawled her way back out. With broken, bloody arms, no less. But how did he deserve her any more than he could ever not deserve Buffy. Both of them were out of his sodding league.

How lucky for him. He slapped on the radio, hoping some tunes would blare the thoughts from his head, but the words he knew, could sing along to, were just white noise. Slipping past him, even the songs he liked, he didn't mumble more than a few words and then he was off again, staring sullenly out into the dark. Further away from Haven with every turn of the wheel.

He'd thought she might have been embarrassed. The truth was out, Jade loved him, and now that it was in front of his face, Spike could see it clear as day. Should have realised it since their snogging session, if he had any wits about him at all. That'd been a good moment. Still fresh off the euphoria of battle and fighting, she'd been a graceful storm of movement and motion, a liquid fire in the battlefield. Normally, she was so damn composed, so careful. Kept it all bottled up. But she'd been smiling, laughing. Energy that snapped in the air. And he'd been near delirious with the ecstasy of it, still caught up in the fight that it had felt natural to pull her to his arms and kiss her, the way she'd been leaning against that wall with her eyes blazing a hole through him, her pale skin splattered with crimson red making up an artist's palette. He hadn't made a conscious decision to kiss her, just going through the motions, and she'd responded with the same fervor of battle.

And he hadn't regretted it. Later, he'd chocked it up to them still being in the throes of euphoria. That it hadn't been more than that. That it was a kiss, and she wouldn't hold it to more than that. Because the thought of it scared him. It was just a snog, leave it at that. And he'd prayed that that was all it was, because Buffy had called not a day later, and like a wanker, he'd gone right to her. Love's bitch, love's puppy crawling on back to its master. Feeling the appropriate giddiness that she decided to love him, to try it again, because that meant he was fulfilling his purpose. And he'd tried to push all memories of that kiss away. Sometimes he'd convinced himself it'd never happened, or it was just one of the other pecks they'd picked up along the way, that was necessary for some reason or another.

'Course it'd broken her heart. And he hadn't wanted to confront himself with that possibility, the guilt, and maybe even the regret that would come after. He'd tried to pin her distance on being ticked about being a vampire again. He'd allowed himself some cognizance of what it really was, but not much. And it wasn't about regretting his kiss with Jade, it was that he might have done it wrong, after. Picking Buffy. First, hadn't seemed like a choice. Just the next logical step. Now he knew better. He'd chosen.

And he thought he'd chosen wrong.

Spurning Jade's unselfish love 'cause of a promise he made, a hope that if he could make Buffy happy, safe, alive, loved, he'd work out his own redemption, but what kind of a reason was that? He loved Buffy. Always would. But she shouldn't be an obligation. She deserved better than that.

And so did he.

He'd realised, at the hands of Elijah and the other wankers, that he couldn't stand to lose Jade. Could barely stand to see her tortured, either. It tore him up inside. Had been such a bloody awful thing to witness, like it was happening to him too. And he'd been mad as hell, finding out about her love that way. Realising that he might have made a mistake all along, thinking there was nothing like that between the two of them, just because it didn't threaten to burn him alive. Because it soothed instead of pained him. Like it was weaker, somehow because the agony wasn't there.

What kind of buggering logic was that? Yet it was all he'd known. Spurned by Cecily, led on a leash by Dru, and scorned by Buffy, that was his bloody experience with the lot. How was he supposed to know that it could be gentle and slow, healing and giving.

All the little touches he'd stolen from her, pulling her into hugs, touching her hair, pushing it back behind her ear, like he was the nice, helpful bloke. Hadn't been just for her benefit. Plenty of it had been for his. Hard to keep himself away from her, hard not to touch her more, hard to have an innocent explanation for it all. She fit into him so perfectly. Relaxed, like she was clay to be moulded. That was Jade. For Jade. The one who'd snuck on him in plain sight, the one who was so obviously _there_ , and that was where she wanted to be. Didn't have anything else more important on her mind.

Helping her in the shower had been a bloody task. Being so close to her, yet he couldn't hold her because it wasn't right. Couldn't wrong Buffy. Couldn't tease Jade, not without something more concrete to offer her. But he wanted to. Wanted something concrete, something real. She deserved that much, and a hell of a lot more.

Hell, the last time he'd been this twisted was when he'd been caught between Dru and Buffy. But he hadn't loved Dru anymore, back then. Offered to dust her for Buffy, but he hadn't got anything but disgust from the Slayer. So much for a heartfelt gesture.

And now, now. He couldn't deny that he wanted them both. There was _Buffy_. The bane-of-his-bloody-existence and the fire-that-burned-him-up Buffy. The chit that'd wormed her way into every bit of him. Who'd refused him for so bloody long, yet he'd always kept coming back, ready for punishment. He'd been so affected by her, so taken with her. Felt blessed with every second. Then there was Jade. A light in her own way. Something _good_ , and something his. Something he didn't have to share with the others. One who'd gladly get staked a thousand bloody times for him. Do nearly anything for him. Would let him off with Buffy to keep him happy. Yet, she was no sodding pushover either. She'd been angry at the thought of him pitying her love for him. She didn't want handouts, and she wasn't pathetic like he had been in love, making up dates and stealing Buffy's clothes to get a whiff. Though, in his defense, he hadn't had a soul. Hadn't known how to do it properly.

Still didn't. Didn't know the right way to do this bloody thing at all, but one step at a time.

Leave behind the girl who'd do anything for him. An' tell Buffy. Tell Buffy that it was over, til he figured this whole thing out. That he couldn't do this. Had to see what was between Jade an' him first. And that's what he'd stewed about over the last day, though he hadn't made a real, actual decision until they'd nearly missed the exit to Haven. He cursed himself for being a coward and had veered over. Probably scared the crap out of Jade, and he hadn't missed her winces of pain when he rocked those arms of hers. He was a git, no doubt 'bout it, and he'd told her that he was leaving her behind. In that dim lit hallway, he'd left her. Could see how her bottom lip trembled, ever so slightly, her eyes locked on his as she stood up as straight as she could manage, still undeniably short. There was reluctance, but not distrust. She'd let out a breath she didn't need. Second time she was letting him leave to go see Buffy.

But it was different this time. He wasn't leaving the poor bird like this. He was coming right back. After it was right. No thoughts of Buffy, of the rights and wrongs of it. Just the two of them. That's what she deserved. He deserved it too. If he could just get his spine together and stop trembling at the thought of it. Never wanted to hurt Buffy. Sometimes he did, out of spite. Couldn't control his mouth that well, and why should he. Was no rug to get stomped over, though it happened plenty. He could love Buffy and not worship every dumb thing to come out of her mouth. And now he could just love Buffy, without needing to be with her. He'd needed to move on. Been told that. Knew it himself. Hell, Andrew had told him as much. Andrew, little scab that he was, told him he should move on from his infatuation of Buffy. But sod was right, wasn't he? He deserved that much. Couldn't hang around forever, waiting. Wasn't healthy. Just because he felt like he owed her.

Just had to move on. Had something waiting for him. Someone. With the brightest blue gaze, and the kindest sodding heart. She was waiting, so he'd better buck up and get a move on.

He drove faster. Still a long, bloody drive to get to San Francisco, and his smokes were nearly gone by the time he'd gotten there, gone in a bundle of nerves. He knew this was the right thing to do but bloody hell, it wasn't easy. He parked the car in the parking lot of the big Slayer's hotel, their headquarters. Taking a page out of Angel's book, but who was he to judge. How else to hole up this many birds in one place. He slammed the door behind him. Stood in the parking lot for a minute. Was cold, and he missed having his duster. Would have to get one from his collection. He'd put most of them in the room he'd shared with Buffy, but in the room that was "his" on the first floor, he had some left.

Yeah. Needed that first.

The building was surprisingly quiet. Not too many birds scurrying 'round. Maybe they were out on patrol, or maybe—God willing—they were just learning to be quiet for once. He felt a little bad for the undead of the San Francisco population. Was a little training ground for the chits, and who could—or wanted to—manage a perfectly evil lifestyle with young chosen ones combing the streets every night. Be near bloody impossible.

He strode up to the glass door and pulled, stepping easily in. The lights were on, though the lobby was damn near silent.

But not empty.

Soon as he cleared the door, a warning arrow shot was fired to the left of him. _Better_ have been a warning shot, since it had both missed and was aimed at him. He didn't like very much being shot at, and if the Slayers were shooting, they sure better not miss. He'd taught them better than that. But he didn't much more time except to release a shocked and aggravated, "Bloody hell!" When then there was a wooden stake pressed to his heart.

"Stand down!" One of the girls yelled. "It's Spike. It's just Spike." Kennedy. She had been aiming a crossbow at him, but she wasn't the one to shoot the misfire. But bloody hell, there was a right fancy haul of girls here, all decked out in full, bloody Rambo fashion. What the hell had he missed?

"What the buggering—"

"Spike. You have a _lot_ of explaining to do," Kennedy looked pale. Something'd right buggered her. She looked on the teetering edge between royally brassed off and frightened. What had frightened _this_ bird? He didn't think much could, although he remembered then that her honey was in some nether world, and maybe she wasn't so put together as she might think she was.

" _I_ have a lot of explaining to do?" Spike snapped back indignantly. He twinged the missed arrow with his finger and thumb. "Since when do you shoot at a bloke when he's making a house call?"

Kennedy opened her mouth and closed it again. Closed was a much better look. Her eyes burned into him. "You don't know?"

"Know what, freckles?" Spike snarked, brushing past the Slayers who'd all crowded up to him, ready for a fight.

Kennedy's mouth set in a firm, straight line. "Come with me. We have a lot to talk about."

Then the Slayer was off, turned on her heel, 'specting Spike to come running after her. Which he did, a bit reluctantly, casting another look 'round the room. Eyes stared back at him, reminding Spike of a whole war-torn expression. What the hell had happened? He'd only been gone six, seven hours, with the detour, since he and Jade had left Vi's house, and hadn't seem like anything had been up the duff at that point and time so what the bloody hell had changed?

She led him to the meeting room, which was manned by more Slayers, equally as armed. They snapped their eyes to him, widening in surprise, but before he any time to snap out an answer from someone more pliable, the doors were opened and they were stepping through.

Hadn't seen the ol' general room so filled in months, since Mandy had been on the rampage, and Slayers had gone missing, with a bunch of them like cockroaches falling over each other trying to figure out the answers. But hell, if it weren't the whole sodding parade. Andrew was missing, but Giles was there. Xander. Illyria. sodding Peaches was there, and a familiar pang of jealousy rose up in his chest when he saw how close Angel was standing near Buffy, the possessive part of him still wanting to growl a _she's mine_ , despite himself. Despite the main reason he'd come here, which hadn't been just to inform the troops. Still, old rivalries took a lot to bloody die.

Buffy was sitting at the head of the table, a far cry from the confident woman he'd seen her as last, staring blankly at the surface of the table. A map was spread out on it, with Rupert busy sticking thumbtacks in it. Buffy tucked a piece of hair back away from her ear, then repeated the gesture although no more hair was out of place. Angel was saying something to her, and her lips twitched into a grimace rather than a smile. Something'd gotten her bloody down, and a worry resounded in his chest. Had something happened to the Bit? He glanced at Xander, who looked somber, but not heartbroken. What, then?

"Buffy," Kennedy declared. "Look who's here."

All the heads turned, looking at Spike like he was some sort of a ghost. Which he had been, once. Bloody hell, it hadn't happened again, had it? He patted himself just to be sure. Still solid. Maybe he should try to walk through the door again? Might give himself a nose bleed for the trouble. Again. Still, he was mostly definitely sure he was the same undead vampire he'd been an hour ago, and it didn't explain to the shocked, and then relieved looks he we getting from the crowd.

"We thought you had been annihilated," Illyria said first, in the same cold, dead voice she normally used, although she still managed to display her displeasure. She rarely often admitted to affection for anyone, seeing them all as below her, but she'd taken to Spike like he was a pet to entertain her, and the same relief was reflected on her face as the others.

Relief that he was alive, apparently.

"What? No. Didn't you get the heads up from Violets and her little band? We made it out of Vampire town just fine, thank you. No annihilation bloody here. What's up with all of you?"

"Spike," Buffy said, sounding choked. Then her brow furrowed, and she stood up, a shaking mess of fury and energy as she crossed the room in swift, dynamic strides. Was she about to snog him? Hug him? He found himself tensing at the thought. Like it was a betrayal to Jade if he accepted it without so much as a word in say so, although now was probably not the best time to have a heart-to-heart.

He didn't have to worry about any of that, however.

Her hand connected with his cheek, a loud clap hitting the air as his head turned half-way around.

"Ow!" Spike exclaimed. "Bloody hell woman. 'M not all healed up yet. What are you—"

"Spike, you idiot!" Buffy snapped back at him with barely contained anger. Not contained at all. His cheek could attest to that. "You couldn't call?"

"For a six hour drive?" He looked at her like she was crazy. Maybe she was. Maybe they'd all gone barmy while he'd been away. And bloody hell he was getting tired of the shared, silent looks between all the spectators in the room. "I don't have the bloody phone anyway, they only gave Jade one." Not that he had wanted it. He'd been forced to carry it a time or two but the bloody things always went missing, and half the time they didn't even seem to work. Jade had a handle on that newfangled technology, she could deal with the phone.

There were looks exchanged around the room _again_ , and it was really pissing him off. What the bloody hell was going on? Buffy looked at him, and he noticed, startled, that there was a glimmer of shine on her eyes, like she was close to tears.

"I thought you were dead, you bleach blonde moron!" She yelled then, every semblance of the teenager girl she'd been once, and not the mature general who lorded over a bunch of teenaged girls. She realised his outburst, and crossed her arms in front of her chest, looking down at the ground in an attempt to gather herself.

"I am dead." Seemed like the reasonable answer, but from the way Buffy's head snapped back up at him, furious, he realised it probably wasn't.

"Bloody hell, people. 'M obviously out of the sodding club, so you blokes want to tell m'what's going on, then? Why would I be dead?"

"Where's Jade?" Angel asked. His voice was quiet, reflective. His eyes bore into the two of them, after lingering just too long on Buffy. Was the first time Spike had seen the git since it being official between him and Buffy, but he didn't feel like celebrating now, or even a little goading.

"She's in Haven." Right, that hadn't been part of the plan. Spike shrugged. "Jus' stayin' with her friend for a night or so. She's still healin'. Broken arms, an' all that. Wanted to give her a rest." Half-arsed answer, but hell he hadn't expected to explain everything to the whole squad, sitting there and taking notes. "What?" He snapped then, irritable, when he saw _another_ exchange of looks, Peaches and Ex-Watcher looking at each other. Buffy didn't meet his eyes.

"What?" He demanded, again. "Bloody hell, spit it out."

"Lorne called your cell-phone two hours ago." Buffy answered first. "The one left with your stuff in my room." Whatever scared little tantrum she'd had had peeled away. The gaze that met his was resolute, and just a little bit sympathetic. She looked all the Slayer now. "There was a fire in Haven. At the orphanage."

"Kiddies okay?"

Buffy chewed on her bottom lip before shaking her head. "No. Most of them didn't make it out."

"Did it spread anywhere else—" Panic flared up in him. "Did, was Jade there? Did she get hurt?" Be just bloody like her, trying to be a hero even with no bloody arms. Be just bloody like her. He reached out, grabbing Buffy's arm, wanting to shake the answers out of her. "Did she bloody get hurt?"

"I talked to Lorne as well," Angel said instead, sober. "The orphanage wasn't the only place to get torched. Lorne's bar. Again. He was fine, got out in time. Jade's old boss' house had been demolished. Like someone hit it with a wrecking ball." He spoke cautiously, slowly. But bloody hell, none of it answered Spike's _one_ question.

"What about Jade?" He all-but roared. "She was stayin' at her stupid demon friend's apartment. On Second street," He added, desperately. "What 'bout that one? Was she hurt?"

"We don't believe so," Rupert answered this time, clearing his throat as he played with his stupid spectacles. He met Spike's eyes. They'd never gotten along, those two. The watcher had made no attempt to hide his distaste of Spike, and that was something Spike could only reciprocate with full enthusiasm. But now he sucked in the information like water would a sponge. They thought Jade was fine.

"Then why'd you bloody think _I_ was offed?" Spike demanded. "Give me a bloody cell, I'll call her myself."

"We don't believe she was injured in the… attacks," Rupert continued, "Because we think she is the instigator."

The room was so quiet a bloody sparkle could have dropped and he could have still heard it. "What?" He growled. "What are you on about? I left her four hours ago. She didn't suddenly decide to play pyromania. Her sodding arms are broken. This is the most ridiculous thing—"

"Spike." Buffy's voice now. Clear, cutting. "From what we've heard. The children didn't just die from the fire. They were massacred."

Her hands reached out, touching Spike's chest. He brushed them away. Wasn't right. Having her touch wasn't right. Buffy straightened her lips into a flat, stern line, her green gaze blazing up at his, searing, unapologetic. Determined to get this out.

"Spike. We think that Jade's the one who's been doing this. She's lost her soul."


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

The picture froze, the whole lot of them still like bloody dummies. He took in every inch of Buffy. The fly-away pieces of her blonde curls, the glistening of her lips and how straight they were set, her jaw steel. Her green eyes stared into his unapologetically. She had said something, and he still hadn't believed it. Still wouldn't believe it. She hadn't said that. Some other words'd come out of her mouth and he hadn't been listening again. He'd made it up.

Or they were just plain, sodding, wrong.

"What?" He nearly jumped at hearing his own voice. "Is this some sort of a bloody joke?" His tone jumped higher, uneven. But that was the only explanation for it, wasn't it? They were having a sodding laugh, they were. This was some made up barmy, an' any second, Jade'd come out from behind the curtain and reveal herself. No, that wasn't her style. She wasn't the impish kind. No, this was a joke they were having at her expense, because she never had the ease to fit right into the camarilla and be part of the group. So this was them, making right fun of her and that was a bloody travesty.

"No," Buffy was shaking her head. She looked serious. Didn't mean she wasn't just as into it as the rest of them, staring at him like that. "It's not a joke. Spike, we're serious. The facts aren't telling us any different."

"Sod your bloody facts then."

"Spike," Angel said reprovingly from where he stood, the great big Peach. "Don't take it out on Buffy, she—"

"And where do you lot get off? Telling me something like this, playing the big ol' tease. You're off your nutters." He shook his head with disgust, taking a step to the side and past Buffy. Couldn't stand to look at her right now. Her expression looked callous, cold. The sympathy had dripped away, and this was Slayer Buffy that was left now.

"We're telling you the truth," Xander spoke, for the first time. "Wish we weren't, Spike, but…" It was the first time the one-eyed man had spoken, and Spike felt his annoyance for the twerp increase tenfold. Any of the gits who'd spoken, Spike had no patience for them. None of them were saying what he wanted to hear.

"An' I'm telling you. It isn't sodding possible."

"Spike—" He wasn't sure who was saying his name that time. An amalgamation of all their little siren voices maybe, piled on top of each other. He swirled fiercely, not quite sure where to direct his anger to, so he chose all of them.

"I left her _four_ bloody hours ago!" He shouted. Growled it. He was so angry, he felt the demon pushing at him, wanting to be released. But golden eyes and fangs would do little now.

"And who, exactly, did you leave her with?" Rupert sounded curious, not accusatory, but Spike could barely differentiate the difference. Sod always sounded like he was disapproving. Acting like he was the elder in the room when Spike nearly had a half century on him. Acting like he was the superior one here, all poncy and tweed from his Watcher days.

"Some broad. Friend o' hers." Spike paced again, passing the table in such a quick stride that some of the papers on the surface of it flew off, like leaves falling to the floor. Xander made an annoyed sound in his throat, opening his mouth to say something, but after a cutting glare from Buffy, he closed it without a word. Buffy was the bloody antagonist and the protector at the same bloody time and it made his head want to spin. His head _was_ spinning. Bloody world too, at that. They were wrong. He'd prove them wrong and they'd feel like sodding berks, then.

"What kind of friend?" Angel prompted. A flare of anger coursed through him, fierce and animalistic at the insinuation that it was some sort of special friend, the shagging kind, like Jade'd be like that, although before Spike could snap an irritable answer, he realised the git was probably asking if the friend was human or not. That cleared his head a bit, although he didn't see how it was important. What they needed here was to speak to Jade. Get it straight from the source, not this bloody conjecture bit.

"A demon. Erm, looks like human, bloody isn't. A Mok'Tagar Demon, think the chit is," Spike wracked his brain, knowing that Jade'd mentioned it once before, although Spike hadn't been terribly interested in her, Lyth. The one who'd complained through their poker games, but still gave him those 'sex me' eyes. He'd just moved to Haven, and he'd be tempted to find some way to put Buffy out of his head, but he hadn't given in. Good thing too. Some of her gab reminded him of Harmony, a lack of a bloody filter, or empathy.

And a lack of a soul, right? That's how those Mok'Tagar demons lived.

"A Mok'Tagar Demon?" Buffy echoed incredulously. "Spike, I had one as a _roommate_. She tried to take out my soul. She nearly did!"

All their eyes on him, accusatory. Thinking he was the big, stupid lug. That they were right, and he was wrong. That there was no mistake now, Jade was walking 'round the world without a soul to her name.

"Jade knew that," Spike defended her fiercely. "Weren't bloody blind to that thought. Dealt with her just fine. And she's a bloody Slaypire now, if the broad couldn't handle it before, how would she bloody manage it now?"

"You did say," Rupert pointed out. "Broken arms? How much would she be able to defend herself without them?"

"I, I," He stammered. Bloody stammered, like he was still William Pratt the bloody awful poet, because their sodding, terrible assumption was beginning to add up and he was standing here the fool. A fool with no Jade at his side. Jesus, Christ. What had he been thinking? Leaving Jade with that broad. Jade had never sounded over-worry about Lyth, or whatever her name was, but she was always cautious. Wary, with the demon. As she should be. And Spike'd delivered her to the demon's front step. With broken, bloody arms.

No. It bloody well didn't happen like that. He refused to believe that… that this was all his fault. No. It didn't happen. Something else was the scary in the dark of night, but it wasn't Jade.

"She killed a sodding Ancient vampire without em," He finally managed to say, eloquence be damned. The pride in his voice was tempered by fear. Sodding fear. They were wearing him down. Any second, they'd come out with the 'ha fooled you', and he'd feel like a bloody idiot.

But he'd be relieved.

"But is it possible?" Rupert continued. Prompting, like Spike was his little Slayer, needed help to answer a geography question. They were being patient with him. Kind.

It was sodding terrible.

"Is what possible, Rupes?" Spike snapped back irritably.

"That this Mok'Tagar Demon you know, nabbed the soul." Harris spoke up. "Because I seem to remember Buffy's roommate getting pretty close with hers."

Buffy's expression had taken on a sour turn at the memory, then turned her undeniable, burning gaze on Spike. Unrepentant.

"No," Spike growled. "No."

"Because it seems like—"

"I said, no!" Spike's foot flung out, hitting one of the empty chairs. It spun on its leg, then teetered and snapped in two.

"That inanimate object is not to blame," Illyria said, matter-of-fact.

Spike was spared a scathing response to Illyria's comment by Buffy reaching out and gripping his arm, her hold strong, like a manacle. He tried to shake her off again, but she wasn't so easily deterred. Wouldn't mean he couldn't get out of it. Throw a bit of a fit, he could unsteady her some. Wasn't like Jade's hold. He couldn't get out of that if he wanted to. Slayer and Vampire strength was a bloody powerful, tremendous combination.

And now it was in the hands of someone without a soul.

No, no, he wouldn't think like that. They were wrong. Sod them all. They were all off their bloody nutter.

"Who else would go to these places?" Buffy said, her voice cold steel. "Huh, Spike? These are _her_ haunts, aren't they?" Unspoken words flashed, a _'you would know'_ that Buffy didn't voice aloud.

"Someone after her, then," Spike answered dully. "Someone hunting her down."

"And she's not answering her cell, why?"

"Broken, then, bloody hell, she has no arms for it?" Spike shot out. "Jus'…just get bloody Willow in here then—sod it all. Your girlfriend took a hell of a time to decide to go waltz off into the other, bloody, dimension," He shot at Kennedy, who'd been quiet, for bloody once.

The Slayer's face hardened. Probably been picking up quite of bit of flak 'cause of her lover's absence, but he didn't care. He wanted someone to blame, and he never much liked Kennedy anyway. "She isn't to blame for this."

"No?" He wheeled to face her, only half-hampered by Buffy's hand still on his arm. "'Cause it sure bloody seems that way. Went in there thinking we'd have backup, yeah? A good ol' call home if you need a bloody rescue, but she wanted to go off with her little witchy mentor and leave us all to hang an' dry. Leaving a little half-drained, assaulted, bloody Slayer in the cells with us, Jade'd with her shattered arms, in which, bloody _world_ is this not her fault?"

"She has other things to worry about," Kennedy snapped, but it was lacking a hard edge. She didn't have a better excuse than that. Must have been run dry over the last week.

"Yeah, other than her friends and girl, then," Spike replied, scathing. Kennedy's eyes flashed, deepening into a dark scowl.

"Enough," Buffy tightened her grip on Spike's arm, enough to the point that it hurt, tearing his gaze off of the dark-eyed Slayer and back to Buffy.

"We've contacted the coven," Giles was saying, calmly. "Willow put a…safeguard on the necklace, if you will. It should be able to reveal if it has been separated from its owner."

"And what's it say?" Spike snarled.

"They haven't been able to determine that yet," the Watcher admitted, touching his fingers to the frame of his glasses and taking them off. Spike was filled with a sudden urge to rip the spectacles from his fingers and smash them to the ground. Wouldn't help matters any, but it'd make him feel better. "It was Willow's spell. They're working through it."

"The sub, bloody par group then," Spike snarked. "'M filled with sodding confidence."

"They are _quite_ capable, I assure you," Rupert responded with unexpected vehemence. Defensive, for some reason that might have amused or even interested Spike, but not now. "It will take them some time, but they are working through it."

"Lovely," Spike sneered. "In the meantime, 'M heading back to Haven. Proving you sods wrong." He looked down at the hand still wrapped around his arm, glancing to Buffy with irritation. "Min' letting go?"

"No. Spike, you can't go there by yourself." Buffy said, refusing to budge. Spike growled, twisting his arm that it unbalanced Buffy and he stepped free.

"Like bloody hell I can't." He responded, but as he stepped towards the door, Illyria and Kennedy were there, unnatural blue eyes and dark holes meeting his.

"Spike. If you're right, and we're wrong about Jade, you should stay here to know for sure." Buffy pointed out. Her expression was cool, but there was a flash of pain behind her emerald eyes. Like that bloody mattered at the moment.

"And she's probably moved on," Harris pointed out. "To go out and reign destruction—I mean rescue puppies," he after a furious look from both Spike and Buffy.

"Just wait." Buffy said. Less of an order now, trying to get through to him. "No-one's allowed to go out on their own right now. After the coven gets back to us, then we can get them to use a spell to find her." Spike waited to see if she'd add a, 'and then we'll help her', or even a 'then we'll find her', but no such sentiments came from the blonde Slayer.

"Fine," Spike growled. "But 'M still having a cigarette. 'Less you want me to do it in here."

"Fine." Buffy echoed him. "Angel, go with him."

Spike growled, while the big sod just looked irritated.

Buffy looked at the two of them. "Non-negotiable."

Spike growled again, but the look he got in return meant it clearly wasn't up for discussion. "Sod it," he muttered. "Come along, then, Peaches." He fished a cigarette from his pocket, crumpled, and shoved it between his lips. Angel's scowl remained, but then he straightened up, glancing in Buffy's direction, and finding no quarter in her fierce green eyes. With a shrug, the hulking vampire crossed the room, following Spike as the two of them stepped out into the foyer.

"Wouldn't be smart to try to tag after her alone," Angel warned.

Spike snorted, the two of them turning around a corner, passing more battle-ready Slayers that let the vampires pass with only a careful look. "'M not going to. 'cause she's fine." If he said it with enough confidence, maybe he'd begin to believe it?

He could only bloody hope. "'Sides, you worry that you'd have to try to stop me? An' lose again?"

A growl sounded deep in Angel's throat. Still a sore spot with his grandsire, then. A sigh followed his growl, then. "Seems like you care for this Jade, quite a bit," the wanker said instead.

"Keep your opinions to yourself," Spike snapped back. Bloody Slayers at every exit and entrance, giving Angel and Spike warning looks as the vampires stepped outside and into the cold. Bloody keeping up the Fort Knox appearance then. Scared to go out at night with a vampire on the loose. A bunch of Slayers, shaking in their skivvies. Because of Jade.

No. It wasn't her. Some other big bad. It wasn't her, because she was fine, and he'd see her again and they'd have a big laugh. He'd tell her that she wouldn't have to face her biggest fear, losing her soul. Yeah. That was how it'd go. She was the one of them that got the clean slate, after all. She worked so bloody hard to keep it that way. It didn't go like this.

It was cold outside, wind swirling at them. Spike felt it more strongly than he normally did, could feel the bite of it like a whip. Wished he'd gotten his duster, the near-floor length jacket. Made him feel more imposing. Like less could bloody touch him. He glanced to the Sod, who lingered close.

"So you're back to being ordered 'round by Buffy, then?" Spike asked. Couldn't help himself. He was hurting, so it was time to lash out. And his history with Angel always provided him with plenty of ammunition. "Thought you got your own crew to break out of her shadow a bit, but looks like you still like the glorified guard dog job."

"It's not like that," Angel said, a big stiffly, giving himself away, despite his reach for nonchalance. "She has a lot on her mind."

Spike snorted. "Bet she does. How to keep her girls safe while Big Bad Jade runs 'round." He let out a bitter laugh, hoping Peaches wouldn't hear the fear laced in it. That he'd hear the scorn, because he did have bloody scorn for the whole damn thing, thinking that Jade could do this. His Jade. Her heart was her biggest, bloody weakness, and there was no way she'd lost it. Gone after that orphanage of kids she swore she didn't like, but always managed to look out for them anyway. She wouldn't.

"You shouldn't treat her with such scorn," Peaches said, but Spike was sure that the older vampire hoped Spike would lose his flame for the blonde. Angel'd always hated the two of them together. Thought he had dibs because he'd been first. Like Spike was somehow the worst possible thing for Buffy, like a brand of hell designed just for Angel. But if Spike was a wanker, much of it could be blamed on Angel, and that's what the Sod hated. Hated the twisted being that Spike'd been. Hated that he'd been the cause of it. So that's what it was, guilt, mostly. A reminder of all of Peaches' big bad that didn't go away just because he had a soul.

Jade's wouldn't go away either.

Bloody hell, he couldn't think like this. Wouldn't. His fingers trembled slightly as he lit the cigarette, taking in a big inhale that didn't begin to steady his trembles.

"She thought you were dead," Angel continued. There was a melancholic edge to his voice. Like he was dismayed to realise that yeah, Buffy actually gave a lick for Spike. Wasn't just for the shagging, thought it had been good. But bloody hell, Spike didn't even feel like bragging about it anymore. He'd been looking forward to this, seeing Angel while it was official and bloody real between him and Buffy, all stamped and dated, like. But he couldn't even bring himself to brag. 'Cause it didn't seem like such an accomplishment anymore.

"I'm sure it just tore her to pieces," Spike said, bitterly. Bloody hell, had he always been this sour about the whole thing? He thought he had. Been nothing but a thorn in his side, all these years. Being treated like dirt. Never good enough to be loved, but useful enough to be used, that'd been his bloody existence. Trying to be important in Buffy's eyes so he had a place in this world.

Well he'd found his own place now, hadn't he? It wasn't at Buffy's beck and call. Not anymore. No. But it wasn't here, either. It was with a woman with the bluest, most softest eyes he'd ever seen, that always looked at him like he was something. Like he was a man. He'd thought Buffy'd made him feel like that, but he hadn't had an idea, had he? Been so desperate for anything, he'd blown it all out of proportion. Thought that was how love was supposed to be. Painful and degrading. If that was the case, then he was head over heels in it for Buffy.

But he learned more now. Knew better. So while the love he had for Buffy would always be there, it was layered now, with some undeniable vitriol and resentment. And that wasn't all her fault. It was just who she was and how she had to be. And he'd loved her for that. Make just as much sense to loathe her for that too, on the other side of the sodding coin.

"Well, I wouldn't go that far," the Poof answered, a bit snide, in the nature of self-preservation. 'Course he wouldn't want to admit that Buffy'd be beside herself if Spike hit the dust for real this time. The selfishness of it, as well as just it being something expected, coming from Angel and all, made Spike crack a smile. Yeah, they weren't best buddies. Never would be. But they understood each other, at least.

"Yeah, you wouldn't." Spike said into his puff of smoke.

"And actually, I was here on an entirely different errand." Angel pointed out. "I wasn't called here. I was here already."

"Still on a leash."

Angel frowned, his dark eyes looking through Spike. "Not as short as yours," the elder vampire shot back.

"Yeh, that'd be the truth." There was no bite in Spike's words, just calm acceptance. Never denied he was a bitch to love, now did he. Be a bit of a falsehood. "'Least it was," Spike said, not able to help himself. "But I mean, how much can a fella take after he just gets tired of the whole bloody thing." He was rambling now. At least gabbing about Buffy put the fear out of his noggin for a moment.

"Well, you know my stand on the whole thing," Angel answered. "You two never belonged together." No, 'course not. Not in Angel's head, no. Buffy was his pretty little blonde princess from some fairytale where the prince never became a giant wanker. Though everyone always figured Angel and Angelus were two completely different bloody personas, when Spike knew they weren't all that different. Knew it better than most. Was no happy fairytale ending, if it starred the Poof.

He probably expected Spike to get angry. Hell, Spike was tempted. The spark rubbed, but it didn't catch flame. Angel'd told him this before. And Spike had all the reason to be mighty superior about it now. Got the girl. He could mention it right now, remind the Sod and rub it in his face a little.

But it didn't seem right to brag about a prize he didn't intend to keep.

"Might be that you're right."

Angel looked surprised at Spike's simple acquiescence, but instead of the pleased look Spike expected to follow, he simply looked introspective.

"Doesna mean that you're the right sod for her either," Spike added, with his trademark smirk. Trying to keep the game at a place they were familiar with. Buffy'd always be a bit of a sore spot between the two of them. Even if Spike had doubts about staying in the court, didn't mean he thought Angel had a claim on her either.

"I could have helped, with Jade, you know." Angel said, then. "I know a thing about—"

The calm was shattered. Spike spat out the cigarette in his lips and let it fall to the ground. There was a layer of frost there, on the brown grass, but no snow. He stomped at it without much care, not even looking at where his boot was, his smouldering gaze directed at the arrogant wanker.

"Know a thing about what?" He snapped, fiercely. "Taking blood from the dead like some sort o' vulture? Drinking up rats? Yeah, you've got a _fantastic_ bloody track record with restraint, don't you? An' you know what? She doesn't need any help. Could ha' done without mine, just fine too. Sure as hell doesn't need you. Don't need you at all."

He began to pace again, irritable, charged up. "An' you know what? Even if, even bloody if you sods are right, an' she's lost her soul, well, she's not a giant prat like you. She'd deal with it. Somehow. She's bloody strong. Stronger than any—what would you even know. Just because you have a Slayer trailing you that thinks she's all dark side, and you, you think by playing your little group redemption therapy that it might get your bloody hands cleaner any faster, well it doesn't sodding work like that, an', an' Jade doesn't need your sodding redemption. She's the clean slate. She's the bloody one that doesn't have to have this sodding blood on her hands. She doesn't need advice from Scourge of the Bloody Europe, because she's just. Sodding. Fine."

Angel just stared at him. Spike had the impression that the wanker was almost amused, but he hid it well. "As I said, seems like you care for her a lot." Angel said. "You used to speak about Buffy like that."

Spike stepped up to him, growling. "Don't compare them. They're not one bit alike."

"You mean you don't care about them the same way." His grandsire answered.

"Bugger off," Spike shot back, about to tell him just what exactly he thought of the whole impromptu counselling session that he both didn't want or didn't need—Angel looking at him like he had him all sized up when there was a bang on the door, and Xander burst through. He looked warily around, as if his single, human eye could cut through the darkness at all.

"Coven got back to us," Xander gulped back a haggard breath. Wasn't the fittest to begin with, and it seemed like he'd ran down to get them. Spike tried to keep the fear from spiking his blood, from writhing around him with its tendrils.

He knew what he wanted Xander to say. Had all the right words picked out.

"We're right, stupid wankers. You're right all along, Spike, and an extremely better looking man than me. Jade's doing just fine, and the whole soul thing? Perfectly where it belongs. No need to worry. Jade'll be here any minute."

That's what he wanted Harris to say. Angel's expression was solemn. Like he could read the sod's mind from the rapid beating of his heart. Like he had some insight. Well they were wrong. They were all wrong. Couldn't be right. The one-eyed git was a pain in Spike's side, but he'd finally prove his use here. He'd settle this all. Put Spike's fears to bed before they had time to gestate further.

"The coven got back to us," Xander said aloud. "They've determined that the split's happened." His single eye landed on Spike. "Her soul and her body are split. In two different places. Buffy wants you guys back in the meeting room so we can decide what happens next."

Spike barely noticed Angel's nod. Barely realised he was coming along with feet made of lead, and that this time, he hadn't argued. Where was his rationalization now? He defended Jade, that's what he did. He stood for her when no-one else did, an' she'd do the same for him.

So why did he follow like a sheep, why'd he feel like the floor had opened up and swallowed him down into it again, like when he'd dragged into that near-hell in Wolfram & Hart's basement? Why couldn't he form a coherent thought, a snarky comeback. Reminding them all how incompetent and idiotic they were? Buggering morons. He should be able to say as much. Instead, he felt his stomach had flipped to the floor, like he was dragging it behind him. He didn't know why. Didn't know why he couldn't say anything, then.

He needed proof, didn't he? He had to wait until it was staring him in the face, then he'd bloody believe it, and he didn't care how much of a pain in an arse that was to everyone else, he refused to cooperate, refused to believe in it. They were wrong. That's what it had to be.

But he couldn't think it with enough vehemence anymore. That little niggling in the back of his head, which he'd covered in anger, it wouldn't stop piercing him. Wouldn't stop taunting him. Taunting him with what he knew all along, and that was why he'd been so bloody angry, because it was his fault. All his fault.

Jade had lost her soul, and it was 'cause he'd left her behind.


	3. Chapter 3

**3**

The three men crowded back into the room. There were more Slayers there now, ones he didn't recognize and didn't care to. Spike felt blank, empty. He looked to Angel, whose carefully impassive expression was a mite better than the sympathetic look Harris had shot at him after Spike had followed him without so much of a word. Him and Harris had never been buddies either. Been roommates, but that'd just cultivated an already present mutual loathing. No bonding there. Especially when Spike'd been forced to raid Harris' closet and found the worst possible garbs to fit him. Nothing black, but covered in palm trees or some sort. Sodding embarrassing.

"Where's the rest of your crew at?" Spike asked him. Nothing snide about it for once, not even a nickname. Angel's dark eyes looked back at him tentatively.

"Patrolling," came the short reply. "Keeping a look on the perimeter."

So he hadn't even waited for the result. Just bloody sent his minions on the go ahead, because he'd already decided on the truth. Wanker. Disgust rose up in his stomach, and the rational explanation that it had just been a precaution didn't ring in his head. He didn't want to be reasonable. He wanted to rip the table off the floor and throw it around the room, but buggering thing was probably weighted down. And it was a bit heavy, even for him. Didn't mean he didn't want to try.

Didn't mean he wanted to accept the truth like a right sod. Wanted to fight it, but he still felt empty. Anger mulled down somewhere at the bottom, with revulsion and guilt floating to the surface. And a desperation that outweighed it all. Had to find her. Quickly. Before she had a chance to do more things that would haunt her later. Had to get her sooner, rather than later. This would kill her, once she got her soul back. They had to retrieve it as soon as possible.

"…The demon is proving difficult for the coven to track," Rupert was saying, pointing at the map. "Whether purposively or not, the Mok'Tagar's ability for both teleportation and inter-dimensional travel means that she's very hard to track."

"And Jade?" Buffy's voice was hard, dismissive. Moving onto the bigger fish on hand.

"Her position is also somewhat difficult for them to monitor. She's fast, erratic. And the coven is spread a bit thin, trying to keep a mark on where the demon is."

"Well then tell them to concentrate their efforts on Jade, then. We need to know where she's at. At all times. And where she's going."

"What we need," Spike cut in. "Is to know where that sodding _bitch_ of a demon is, so we can get Jade's soul back," he stepped to the table. The chatter around them hushed, stiffening at the electric tension in the room. Alright. He wouldn't bloody deny it any longer, but he wasn't standing by to do no idly either. "That one should be our priority here."

Buffy straightened. She had an uncanny ability to appear like she was looking down at Spike, even from a lesser vantage point, and she pressed that advantage now. "The Slaypire without a soul is the one we need to worry about tracking. Not the one who can pop away. It's a waste of time."

"Then how would we get her soul back?" Spike demanded. "We need to get that first."

"No," Buffy argued. "We can't ignore a dangerous threat while we're chasing around. We need to—"

"She's not dangerous!" Spike couldn't help but snarl. A dangerous threat. He half expected the next out of her words to be HST, or Hostile bloody thousand, talking like she was some military commander. Like she wanted to stuff Jade into some cell and stick a chip in her head, and the thought infuriated him.

"Not dangerous?" Buffy's brow arched, looking at him like he was the crazy one, her voice colder still. "Have you forgotten Mandy? She is a _Slaypire_ , Spike. Without a soul."

"That doesn't matter!" he snapped. "I mean… bloody hell. She's not like that Legally Blonde basket case."

"What makes her different?"

What made her different. The bloody audacity of it. "Everything!" He roared. "What—what kind of bloody question is that. Everything. She's on our bloody. Side. She's one of us."

"So was—"

"You don't compare them!" Spike snapped, thrusting a finger towards Buffy to get the point across.

"We need to do something about her." Buffy said, closing her eyes to control her anger and opening them again. "We can't. Waste. Time."

"She'll not fight yet," Spike protested, and damn that desperation cutting into his tone. "She's smart. She'll wait."

"Why—"

"Spike does have a point," Giles cut in, getting a both irritated and surprised glance from Buffy. "Her arms were broken, you say?" The watcher said, with a look at Spike.

"Shattered," The bleach blonde vampire answered curtly.

"Her injury should stand to buy us some time," Giles continued. "So there is no need to act rash. Call all the Slayers back to safehouses."

"I'm going after the Mok'Tagar Demon." Spike said. "While you all sit 'round and wait. Best do it now, while she's weak."

"And how exactly, are you going to find her?" Buffy's tone was a mix of exasperation and ire. "I mean it. The witches will focus their attention on keeping an eye on Jade, and where's she's going to go."

"Her primary goal will be to accelerate the healing process as quickly as possible," Rupert was speaking like Jade was one of the creatures from his dusty old tomes and he could just read off her documented patterns. A flare of anger rose at the watcher's presumption, but with a solid, depressing truth that outweighed his irritation, he knew that the old man was right. It was the course that made most sense. She wouldn't act until she was in tip top bloody shape. "Feeding off humans. It is also likely that she'll seek out Slayers to increase her recuperation further."

"Fantastic," Xander muttered, running his hand through his thick brown hair.

"She had an invitation to Vi's house," Spike blurted, barely recognizing the words were dribbling from his lips. Felt like he was betraying her, somehow. She might have gone back there. Back to Los Angeles, maybe to raze the Vampire's nest to the ground. Finish the job she didn't get to.

"They moved to a different location," Buffy said, but her tone was hardly reassuring. "We told her when Lorne gave us the news. Not that they had much time to get to headquarters or anywhere safe." Her tone was nearly on the edge of accusatory, angry. Like she was blaming Spike for her girls being in danger. He could handle that. What he couldn't handle was if she blamed Jade.

"Good," Spike answered, but with little eloquence and no vehemence. He felt battered, drained. But he wasn't going to play build the fort with the rest of the scared little Slayers. He had to do something. "Then I'm heading back to Haven. See what I can find out."

"You can't be out." Buffy argued. Not an argument, more like a command. He bristled. Used to be he loved the power in her voice, the unapologetic authoritarian vibe she'd picked up and stuck to. Used to admire that in her. Now it just irked him in every way. _You're bloody wrong_ , he wanted to growl. He _needed_ to be on the hunt.

"Like bloody. Hell." Spike snapped back.

"Blood won't be her only desire," Angel pointed out, from where the big lummox stood, lurking behind Spike. Spike wheeled his head towards him, still not sure if the Poofter was friend or foe. Or somewhere in between. Probably in between. Like bloody normal. Angel's dark eyes met his. "She'll be looking for Spike."

For the second time, he wanted to correct someone's assumption around Jade. _He_ knew her best. He knew all this. He didn't need them to say it. But he couldn't voice it in words, so they were saying it to him like he needed the bloody explanation. He knew that, He knew that any—and he hated to use the word, since it cheapened her feelings for him—obsession she had with him would twist perversely without her soul, but the obsession would remain. Whether she wanted to kill him or drag him off, he knew that she'd be drawn to him.

"Fine, then. I go out with a troupe of your girls," Spike said to Buffy, with a shrug. "If I'm found in the sodding wild, we'll try to capture her then."

"I'm not letting my Slayers go out while Jade is running loose," Buffy contradicted, her voice flint. Spike felt that resentment flare up that was quickly becoming familiar. "And trying to capture her will just get my people killed, and I'm not going to risk that."

"What?" Spike snarled.

The chatter in the room quieted, to a dull murmur now.

"What do you bloody mean you're not willing to attempt it? 'Course we need to capture her. Unless you fancy trying to fit that soul back on in the middle of a battle. We need her on our terms."

"One. We don't even _have_ the soul, Spike."

"So? We'll get it. Keep her close an' contained in the bloody mean time."

"No."

" _No?"_ Spike took a step towards her, towering over her. Buffy didn't flinch, didn't even blink, although Xander the useless sod stiffened his shoulders as if he could do a bloody thing if he wanted to. "What's your plan then? Do. Bloody. Share."

Buffy gazed back at him placidly. "I'm a vampire Slayer, Spike. What do you think? Jade is a Slayer-Vampire and she is _not—"_

"Not your sodding enemy, that's what!"

"She is _now_. She doesn't have her soul. And she's already proved that she's not going to sit by and sit in a crypt." Buffy had the barest grace to blush, after her jab towards Spike. Reminding him how he hadn't been a real 'dangerous threat' in a long time. "She's left a trail—a trail behind her. Bloody. Children, Spike. I'm not throwing my Slayers' lives away."

"They all owe her their lives anyway!" Spike snapped back. Buffy's expression was unforgiving, her jaw like steel. "She bloody died to save them from—"

"From who? From Mandy. Because Mandy was a _dangerous threat_ and she had to be taken down. And just because she helped save my Slayers—"

"Saved. Mostly by her. Bloody. Self."

"Doesn't mean that she owns their lives!"

"Well, _why not_?" Spike roared. "Why doesn't she get. A single. Bloody thing from you? Put her bloody life _and_ her unlife on the line for you, and that doesn't mean a sodding thing to you?"

"It means she gets a quick death," Buffy answered back coldly.

"She would prefer this course," Rupert broke in, before Spike could try to rip the bloody arms off the Slayer. And he wanted to. His fingers curled back and forth. "From what I've seen of her, she would prefer whatever minimized the danger. The quickest, safest solution."

"Sod. Your. Solution." Spike spat out between his teeth. "Jus' cause she isn't one of yours?" He demanded, desperately, of Buffy. He felt a tightness in his chest, a panic that rose up in him. "'Cause you don't like her? How is that bloody fair?"

"Mandy was one of mine," Buffy reminded him. "It means I can mourn her death, not try to keep her alive—damnit, Spike. She's a vampire without a soul. More powerful than any other fledgling. And she'll kill and kill and kill until she's stopped."

"Stopped by putting her soul where it rightly belongs." Spike said, but the words seemed weak even to him. A desperate attempt from a desperate man.

"Which we don't have and probably can't get, can't you see that, Spike?" Buffy snapped, exasperated.

"Red can find a way. That's her bloody specialty, isn't it, putting souls back."

"She isn't here," Buffy reminded him, fiercely. "If she was, then maybe, _maybe_ we could restrain Jade with magic, but I can't risk my Slayers or the coven to manage that kind of thing without Willow here."

"Well then get her back!"

"I have no control over that," Buffy seethed.

With a grunt of exasperation, anger, Spike ran his fingers through his scalp, digging into the skin there. "Order your Slayers to keep her alive." He said then, but it wasn't quite a demand, not with the way his voice dropped to a near whisper. A plead. "To not go for the kill. I can get her soul. I can get it. But I need y'to keep her alive until I get back."

"I can't risk that for one person. Not even her."

"Because I _love her?"_ Spike snapped, all inhibitions gone. "Is that bloody why?"

The room had been quiet before, and now it was silent. All eyes swiveled to stare at the two blondes who stood, only scant inches between them, caught up in what could easily have been interpreted as any of the bloody lover quarrels they'd had before. But it was different this time. Different, because Spike had blurted it out. Not the bloody way he would have. Would have told her quietly, alone. Wouldn't have said anything about loving Jade. But it was true, wasn't it? He wasn't the one to hold back when he got burned, and he had gotten burned so many times.

And now he was in danger of losing the one who'd been actually bloody good to him. Gentle and kind, a mixture that was way too bloody rare. Who'd died for him, and now lost the only thing that kept her still human. That was his fault. And he'd fix it. Buffy had to let him. Had to help him. Or he'd never forgive him.

Though now, he didn't think she'd forgive him either.

Her mouth had closed into a thin line. Green eyes blazed up at him, fierce, unbroken. Even now his words hadn't—no, that was wrong. That was the steely eyed look she presented to the rest of her companions, but he could see how her bottom lip trembled, the hurt flashing behind her green eyes that was covered by anger. But not covered enough. He could see it then, a bit of the teenager she'd been those years ago, who loved too much and could barely keep it together while her sod of a boyfriend broke her heart. And he shouldn't have said it like this, but then again, she wasn't the trembling girl she'd been once, near in tears at the prospect of fighting Angelus. She was wounded, but she'd lick her wounds alone.

And she'd cover herself by releasing on him a scathing diatribe.

"Congratulations," Buffy said, every word dripping with acrimony. "And no, Spike, not everything revolves around you. I don't do my job specifically to torture you. If and probably when Jade gets here, we'll have to do everything we can to put her down, because the lives of my girls are more important than just one of your 'loves'."

Spike snarled, unable to construct words. His hands were shaking with the urge to beat some sense into the blonde, but he knew it wouldn't work. He wouldn't even _get_ to her with the sod at his back, and it wouldn't help. "Fine. Do it your own bloody way. But 'M off. 'M going to get her soul back, and stop her _without_ bloody killing her. Help me if you give a bloody damn. Stay out of my way if you don't." His words were directed at Buffy first, then the rest of the room, who were still staring at him with similarly shocked and awed expressions. Most of them would be right amused at any spat between him and Buffy, used to it, really, but not now. Spike knew there was no coming back from that. He'd hurt her in front of them all. And that should destroy him, but he accepted it quietly .The only thing he was accepting quietly.

He swirled then, past Peaches, his shoulder hitting the giant lug, though the vampire made no immediate move to stop him. When Spike approached the door, two Slayers stepped immediately into his way, looking behind him for permission. He growled deep in his throat. He'd get through if he had to fight his bloody way out. No doubt about it. He was just itching for a fight now. His blood sang for one, even if his head knew he didn't have time. Couldn't waste a sodding minute.

He was preparing to throw them out of the way when he heard Buffy from behind him.

"Let him go."

An exchanged look between the two Slayers that Spike didn't even see, shouldering past them and out into the hall. No-one followed him. He was both relieved and disappointed. He was on his own, then. Bloody better that way, really. Though really, he wanted all the help he could get not for his sake, but for Jade's. She was strong, but she was only one vampire, and if they got even a lick of magic against her…

Spike felt sick, shaking his head as he tore down the halls. He made it to his room, not even bothering to turn the light on as he made his way inside. He stood there for a moment, just standing in the middle of the room.

And like a ponce, he began to cry. It was just one sob, one that wracked his chest and shook his shoulders, but it was there. He cupped his forehead in his palm, feeling wetness trickle down one of his cheeks. Crying.

He had things to do, but he was crying. Couldn't help it. Soul or no soul, he'd always been emotional. No used walking around with a stone face, no, for bloody or worse he _felt_. All the time. Sometimes too sodding much. An' the worst moments, the times he'd cried the most, well it'd always been about a girl, hadn't it? Cecily rejecting him had turned in him a bawling fool in the alleyway, and that was where he'd met Dru. Sniffling like a right soppish pansy, she'd brushed them away and given him death's kiss. And then _she_ had left him, over a century later, for a bloody _chaos_ demon, and he'd been near crying in Red's lap too, a bottle of alcohol in one hand, and the trembling witch under the other. And then there was Buffy. Reduced him to tears plenty of times.

'You're beneath me,' she'd said. Just the words to really twist it in. Threw money at him like he was worthless, a pathetic parasite, and walked away. He'd wanted to kill her then, but faltered.

But this seemed worse. Just hours—just bloody _hours_ ago, he'd thought himself so high and mighty. Bloody worried about which of the two women he wanted. Ol' Willie with a choice at last. Between the girl who wanted him and the one he'd wanted for so long, and he was going to choose right this time. Choose the one that'd careen him forward, not keep him marred in the past he could never shake free of. He'd had two women, hadn't he.

Now he'd lost both. Lost Jade because of his idiocy. He shouldn't have. Never should have left her alone. He'd done it to protect her from Buffy's wrath. And she'd bloody agreed, because she wanted to make _him_ happy. Make it easier on him. He was such a sodding git. Deserving of bloody nothin' and no-one. And just now, he'd lost Buffy too. And yeah. It was probably the best course. He'd needed to move on. No more guilt for what he'd done to Buffy, resentment for how he'd treated her, and an obligation to continue to love her no matter what. No, he'd had to do this.

But it was so sodding hard. Harder than he would have wished. He'd spurned Buffy and lost Jade, and bloody pushed everyone else away, and now he was on his own. So bloody alone.

His sniffle sounded loud in the emptiness of the room. With a frustrated groan, he wiped away the tears from his eyes. His blonde hair ran in loose, free curls. Hadn't gelled it since before Elijah and Kern had locked them away, and it was soft, too soft. But he didn't have time for it now. No, he came here for one thing that'd help him keep his spine and head in the game. He opened up the closet and pulled out one of his Italian-made duster jackets, throwing his somewhat ragged and inferior replacement to the ground. He threw the duster 'round his shoulders, the heavy leather refreshing. More than refreshing, comforting. He was no big bad, but he was scary, and anyone who tried to get in his way better get the bloody hell out of it.

He exited his room, fully clothed in black. There were Slayers in the hallway still, patrolling, and though they gave him curious and wary glances, no-one stopped him. He approached the lobby then, and Kennedy was there. She gave him a glance that was no more antagonistic than normal, just the same dislike that was always there. Of the looks he'd gotten after his confession to Buffy, Kennedy's had looked almost vaguely impressed. Probably that he'd stood up to the blonde Slayer for once. Kennedy had often muttered 'whipped' under her voice, and plead innocence even though his vampire hearing could clearly pick it up. But she eyed him, leery as he approached.

"Buffy said to let you go, so we are. But you're on your own," Kennedy informed him. The knowledge stung, but he had expected it, an' he said as much.

"Yeh, well. No-one to get in my bloody way then."

"Right," Kennedy answered in a clipped tone.

"Where's the little Maclay, then?" Spike asked then. He shouldn't be standing 'round talking, but he knew Jade would ask. She'd be interested, and that was enough to compel him to ask.

Kennedy looked surprised, then her expression darkened. "Staying with the Coven while Willow's away."

"Didn't feel like watchin' her all by your lonesome, did you?"

Kennedy's lips pursed, disgruntled. Spike could see. See that the adoption of Glinda's cousin's child had been a one-Willow decision, and Kennedy'd gone along with it. Knew she wasn't as strong as the witch in some things, and hadn't been able to sway her. So she'd jumped on the bandwagon, but she wasn't willing. Or naturally adept. Probably stayed far away from the child when Willow was gone.

"You should probably go. Before Buffy changes her mind and chains you up in the basement. Though you'd probably like that," Kennedy returned in a scathing reply. Spike's lips twitched in amusement rather than anger. He'd riled up the Slayer, and that kept his own ire at bay.

"Yeh," He agreed. "Had somethin' to ask you first. 'Bout Willow."

Kennedy's near-black eyes seared into him. "I told you, I have no idea to know when she'll be back—"

"I know." Spike rose his hand to placate the Slayer before she could continue on her tirade. "This is a if she comes back in the nick 'f time sort of deal."

Kennedy arched her eyebrow. "Something you couldn't ask in front of the troops?"

"Yeah, well you heard how sodding open minded they were," it came out in a growl, Spike's brow furrowing. "'F this doesn't work out. If I can't get Jade's soul back from that bloody broad, I want you to ask Willow to try something else."

"What?" Kennedy asked, equal parts impatient and curious.

"Transfer my soul into Jade instead."

* * *

He swept out into the parking lot. Kennedy hadn't exactly given him an overwhelming vote of confidence, but she'd at least promised to tell Red—stressing the _if_ —if she came back in time, being a bit more willing to hear him out when he wasn't blaming the witch for being absent. Though a lot of it was sodding Red's fault, in his opinion. She hadn't been available when she said she'd be, and now… Willow was their best bet for incapacitating Jade without killing her. Maybe the only bloody bet. And she was off in la la land, with a bunch of scared Slayers sharpening their bloody stakes.

And all he had was this tiny, barest of hopes that he could track that Lyth down. Rip the soul from her hands if he bloody had to, and tear off her head as a welcome bonus. Yeah, he'd been the bloody sod to leave Jade with a Mok'Tagar demon, but he'd trusted Jade's capability to defend herself. No, hadn't trusted, bloody forced it on her. Said he'd be leaving, and he did just that, and she'd accepted it. All came back to him. A vicious bloody circle.

But he'd fix it, one way or another. He'd get her soul back. Find Jade and get it on her somehow. Never mind the ifs and whats, he'd bloody find a way. Didn't matter if it killed him. He wouldn't let anything happen to her. He had to fix this.

And he'd give her his bloody soul if he had to. She needed it right now, more than him. Hell, he'd been without it before. He'd manage. And even if he didn't, he was easier to lock up than she was. He hoped it was the last, possible option, but he'd do it in a second if it meant Jade could stay unliving, with a soul. He'd do it.

He approached the car, the white little Oldsmobile that still had the scent of Jade, even through the cigarettes he'd chain-smoked. Keys jingled in his hand, but before he had a chance to open it, he felt a light swish of air behind him, movement.

He didn't turn around.

"She change 'er mind then?" Spike asked bitterly. "Sent in the cavalry to drag me back? An' I bet you were just one bloody willin' volunteer, weren't you? Hopin' it'll send you back into her arms now that I'm out of the picture?"

"Hey, you're the one who asked for help," The quiet voice responded.

Arching his eyebrow, he whirled around with amazement. "You're the last one I expected," He snapped. "If this is a sodding joke, then I—"

"You want my help or not?"

"No," Spike said petulantly, earning a disgruntled expression.

"Fine, suit yourself," and he turned to leave.

"No. Angel." Spike stumbled, before Peaches could make good on his threat. And he would. But the sight of the hulking vampire, aligning himself in _Spike's_ court, that'd taken Spike for a turn. "Why? Why are _you_ of all of them, here?"

His friends, real friends, well, those were few and far bloody between. Most of them were dead an' gone by now. Willow, though they hadn't exactly been best buds with Buffy around, she'd been sympathetic to him a time or two. Even tried to reassure him after it was found out that he couldn't bite what with that chip in his head, but she was off in never-never land. Glinda, though, the gentle witch, she'd been friendly enough to Spike. Not so quick to write him off. But she was dead. He'd gotten along right quick with Fred, too. Brilliant as she was, she worked bloody night and day to turn him back to flesh and blood, even if it hadn't been her really that done it. But she was dead now too, Illyria so much of a different being, it wasn't the same. Anya the vengeance demon, well, if his reasoning was logical enough, she might have been on board with him, though she was big on the self-preservation bit. Not that it helped her in the end, though. Dead. And Joyce. Joyce woulda liked Jade. Spike was sure of it. If Slayer still had her mum 'round, she'd talk some sense into her. Dawn, too. Little Bit had seemed to take a liking to Jade too, but she was off in bloody Canada, taking university classes like a good little Nibblet and slowly leaving her sister's Slaying world behind. It was good on her. Wasn't the right place for a nibblet like her sometimes. Too much pain. Charlie Boy, now, he might help Spike, though Spike hadn't seen him back from the patrol Angel had sent him on, so little sodding luck there. Illyria, well, Spike didn't trust her not to try to kill Jade if felt it was necessary. Rupert, certainly bloody not. Andrew, maybe. Sod had followed Spike around like a puppy, though he'd grown a spine the last time Spike seen him. Maybe, maybe not. Buffy, well. He'd burnt that bloody bridge.

Yeah. He'd had followers when he was the big bad. Couldn't call Buffy's friends his own, and now, he didn't have much to call his own either.

Except there had been Jade. She had been his. He hadn't had had to share her with anybody, or fear she'd turn on him in favor of someone else. She was loyal, and she was trustworthy. And she was alone, and so was he.

Cept Angel was still standing in front of him, his expression contemplative.

"Because that's what we champions do?" Angel offered, earning a snort from Spike.

"We champions. Bet that's still hard for you to say," The white-haired vampire said scathingly. Angel frowned slightly, but didn't pick up on the bait.

"Thing is, the Slayers weren't the only ones Jade saved when she turned to fight Mandy. My son was there too." Angel held his gaze. "I haven't forgotten that. And. I know what it's like. To be where Jade is right now. And the after. And she wasn't like us, Spike. Me. She's a good person, I can see that. We've gotten our second chances, and Buffy may not understand that, but we do. Jade deserves hers. You need the help you can get. I can provide that."

Spike twitched his lip. Wanted to tell Peaches where to put it. Didn't need his speeches or the redemption talk, but the thing was, Spike couldn't afford to be selfish. If somethin' happened, he needed another power piece on his side. Just happened to be the Great Brooder.

"She doesn't need your redemption arc," Spike couldn't help but say. "She'll be fine."

Angel shrugged his bulky shoulders.

"What about Charlie boy, then? Or your Dark Slayer? They didn't want to come?"

"They're best here," Angel said. "Working with the Slayers in case something happens." When it became clear that Spike didn't have anything else to say, no outright rejection, Angel spoke again. "Where are we going, then? Do you actually have a plan, or are you just going to—"

"I got a plan," Spike interjected. "And it's a bloody good one. Get in, Peaches. Long drive to Haven."

"Don't call me Peaches," Angel muttered as he moved to the passenger side door. For the second time, Spike reached for the driver side door and was interrupted, this time by heavy, stomping feet from a far from athletic runner, least not the Slayer kind. No, this was Xander, of all the bloody people, running towards them awkwardly, his breath coming out in clouds as he hugged his haphazardly buttoned jacket to his chest. He was looking around erratically, like he was expecting a dangerous night creature to jump out of the dark any second and drag him away.

It chilled Spike to know that the night creature Xander was probably picturing would be Jade.

"Wait," Xander panted as he stumbled over to them. "I'm coming too."

The two vampires exchanged a look.

"What the bloody hell?" Spike said.

 **AN:** _Thank you for all your comments and encouragement and ever-present readers, thank you so much for your continued support, helps so much! Posting today, and then tomorrow, and then off for a couple days for Christmas, I hope everyone enjoys their happpy holidays and again, thank you as always!_


	4. Chapter 4

**4**

Spike looked at the two males, the last, possible creatures on this sodding planet that he'd ever imagine would cross Buffy and waltz over to his side instead. They all had varying degrees, but long lived distaste towards each other, each for different reasons. Well, most of them centered 'round one girl. Who'd gotten her, who hadn't. Who'd hurt her, who'd loved her. They were no means friends, had certainly been foes, but were so far past acquaintances, Spike didn't know what sodding category to put them in. Still, if he'd been floored by Angel coming up, Xander just about bowled him over.

He could understand Angel's side of it. Always had the sodding urge to save everyone like he was damn well Superman, even if it was none of his bloody business. Helpless people who didn't have the intelligence to stay out of secluded alleyways in the dark of night that deserved a little snacking, and puppies caught in trees. That was Angel's sodding modus operandi. Saw Jade was in a bit of a predicament, and the great white Peaches wanted to rush in there to do the saving. That he could understand.

What he couldn't understand was Xander. The man loathed him, though they'd worked out some of that in the last days fighting the First Evil. Not quite mutual respect, no nothing like that, but they'd both fought together. Not the ones to shy away from the fight, even if Xander didn't bring much to it. But human or not, he'd fought bloody tooth and nail, and even Spike could acknowledge that. Didn't have any special abilities to add to the table, but he tried. Had to admit that, however grudgingly. Still. There were no best friend awards between the two of them, and far as he knew, Xander hadn't had any bonding time with Jade. He'd _better_ not have, although when Jade'd talked to Xander as Anya still ran in Spike's memory. Made him feel defensive, it had.

"My first question is why," Spike said, when he could find the words. "And the next words are go back inside 'fore you hurt something."

"I want to help," Xander gulped another mouthful of air, rubbing his arms together. "Cripes, it's freezing out here."

"Again, why? And then no." Spike couldn't deny his curiosity.

Xander's one eye met his then, with surprising resolve. "I'm coming, Spike," the man said. "Look. It's what Dawn wants, okay?"

"'S that so?"

"I called her to warn her about. You know. And she told me to do everything I could to help _Jade_. She likes her."

"Right," Spike blew out a breath he didn't need, pursing his lips as he tilted his head. "Little Bit was grateful when Jade let her talk to her mum, though it damn near killed her."

Xander shook his head vehemently. "That's what she said. She said she wanted me to help. And I'm going to do that. For Dawn." There was a tiny bit of shakiness in his last words, not quite as confident, and a tad more desperate. That was interesting.

Spike cocked a brow. "Bit of trouble in paradise, is there? Hoping to get on your honey's good side, are you?"

"Spike," Angel interjected as Xander's lips spread into a thin line. "You're the one that didn't want to waste time. Let him come or don't."

"I can help," Xander insisted, although he shot a slightly distrustful glance at the great Sod, probably disliking the fact he was talking for him.

"Right. If I need to throw a hammer at the bitch and nail her to a cross, you're the man," Spike said sarcastically. "Although, thought is tempting."

"If you need to get into a place, and you don't have an invitation," Xander answered back firmly, and he did have a bit of a point. "That's when the good ol' not-dead-ness really comes in handy, dontcha think?"

Spike sighed, looking past the man. "Sure there's not one Slayer who wants to rankle the hornet's nest?"

"Spike." Xander's voice was firm. "I just ticked off Buffy, so that I could _not_ tick off my girlfriend. Now, if I head back now, I'll have two seriously angry Summers women to contend with and that's too much for the Xan-Man to handle. Now hurry up and let's go."

Spike looked at the man. Determined enough. More likely to get in the way than anything, and then there was the fact that Spike'd have to be trying to keep the sod safe instead of focusing on Jade, but he had a point. A small one, but as much as Spike liked to mess with Xander's head, he didn't have the energy to do so today. The man might have his uses, however unlikely. And Spike wouldn't take any chances, not with Jade on the line.

"Fine," Spike grumbled. "Get in the sodding car, then."

* * *

They drove in silence, a stony silence. However, it didn't last long. Xander reached up front from where he sat in the back, turning on the power button. Angry rock assaulted them, the music Spike had been listening to on the way up there. There were shared groans from Angel and Xander, while Spike scowled fiercely as Xander changed the station.

"My bloody car, my bloody tunes," Spike said, turning it back.

"At least choose something classical," Angel suggested, earning disgusted looks from both Xander and Spike.

" _This_ is classic," Spike waved his hand protectively in front of the radio, ready to slap Xander's hands away if the one-eyed man got too close.

"Classically awful," Xander groaned. "How about some alternative rock, then? Like Nickelback?"

Spike and Angel looked at each other, appalled.

"Bloody kids. These days."

"No taste," Angel agreed.

"Hey, it's rock," Xander protested, defensive. "The kind you like, isn't it?"

"You take that back!" Spike shouted.

The only thing they could agree on was that the radio should remain off, the three men sitting in silence again.

"I saw Harmony burning your Sex Pistols CD once," Xander said suddenly.

Spike swore. "So that's where that went. Bloody bint. I knew we shoulda staked her." His fingers curled around the wheel.

"Spike," Angel spoke, looking all quiet and deliberative. Fun was over, there was a serious expression on the git's face now. "What is your plan, exactly? What do you think you'll find in Haven?" _Besides, possibly, Jade._ Angel didn't say the words, but Spike knew Peaches nearly did. Thought he was just driving willy-nilly, was he? Hoping he'd run into his Slaypire without any actual, tangible strategy at all. The thought had tempted him. That he'd figure it out by ear, never mind something he had to plan out step by step. Those never worked.

Never worked because he never really got to the end of it, but that was besides the point. Still, it was different this time. No half-arsed attempt. He had to do everything right and better, because he _had_ to make this work. Had to help her. He couldn't risk the Slayers going after her. Couldn't risk Willow re-appearing in a flash of lightning, seeing Jade doing something unforgiveable and just offing her.

"There's a demon," Spike said.

"Filled with reassurance, right now," Xander said from the back seat. Spike shot him a glare. Boy didn't quiver under it, though. Hadn't in a long time. Wasn't really a boy anymore, now was he? Wasn't sure exactly when it happened. Maybe when he had that eye gouged out. Maybe after. Knew he wasn't such a pushover, even if he had no strength or magics or anything useful, that man had an indisputable luck about him. Evident by the fact he was still alive, being in Buffy's world for so long, an' having nothing supernatural about him. Luck was a flimsy thing, but Spike would take anything right now. Still, not the cheek.

"Shut it, yeah? When I was in Haven, while back, I was hunting Doc. Y'remember him?" Spike directed the comment at Xander, whose face turned steely.

"I do. We tried to kill him and he came back with a vengeance." Xander's jaw clenched. "He nearly got Dawn killed." And Buffy had died in her stead. Xander didn't say it, but Spike knew they were both thinking it. Angel too, was quiet, solemn. They'd all loved Buffy, hadn't they? All been heartbroken by her falling into that sodding portal. But they'd had their little things to distract them from it. Angel had his gang, and Xander had Anya. Spike, Spike'd just had a grave to watch over and a little Bit to protect. And still no-one had given him the concrete belief that his love was real and sincere. That without a soul, he couldn't love. Bloody gits.

He'd loved just fine.

But it was ironic, he supposed, that when he finally managed to convince everyone of it, he'd changed his mind. In front of everyone, God. Couldn't take that one back. He'd told everyone. He'd hurt Buffy, he knew it. And the 'about time' smugness that should have originated from knowing that she actually care about him didn't even show up at all. He wasn't smug. He was just resigned about it all. He'd given up Buffy and he'd lost Jade. Trying to do the right thing and he'd gotten it all twisted.

But he hadn't lost Jade just yet."

"Anyway. After the bugger had thrown us into a demon dimension an' we'd gotten back, he was long gone. Thought he'd gotten away again." Spike remembered his anger, his frustration. But Jade'd been the one to come up with the solution.

"'Er name's Clarity, and she can find people. Where they are. And where they're going." Spike let that sink in.

"She'll be able to find the Mok'Tagar Demon," Angel clarified.

"Right you are." Spike said.

"Well, that's handy." Xander said, sounding relieved, and then suspicious. "She'll just do it for free?"

"Not quite." Spike answered. "She likes a good snog."

* * *

"Wow," Xander breathed as they drove into tree. A large tree had been pushed over onto the road, and the pavement was torn up around where it fell. The three men had little choice but to pull back over to the side of the road. "It's, uh. Quite quaint here." The damage was extensive. Cars were overturned, and more than a couple buildings showed evidence of a fire. "She really went overboard here, huh?"

"You shut your mouth," Spike growled, turning around towards the man before he could think. But Angel was there, frowning, his dark eyes blazing out a quiet warning. Spike's hands were clenched into fists and he felt as tense as a taut bowstring before he forced himself to relax. "S'not probably all her," Spike made himself say, trying out reason. "Haven has a strict no-killing rule. Don't take kindly to it. When Ja—when she started her ruckus, bet the local population panicked. Some demons might have latched onto the chance to kill their neighbours, others just ran."

"You think Clarity stayed?" Angel asked, and Spike tried not to wince, tried not to think of the alternative.

"Bloody hope so," he said. In silent concord, the three males got out of the parked car. Spike slammed his door shut with more force then was necessary, and his chest flared up in agony. He grunted quietly, placing the flat of his palm to his heart. The two days of downtime had helped, but he was far from fully healed. He hadn't the time to stop and slow down, but his body reminded him with aches and twinges that the pain hadn't gone away.

"Looks like Jade's not the only one who hasn't fully healed yet," Angel observed in quiet contemplation, standing a few meters beside him, swift as a shadow and as silent as one. Spike was used to that, with Jade, her speed was alarming until he got used to the signs, knew when she'd flit from one space to another. Spike smoothed his expression, hiding the wince and dropping his hand to his side, curling it into a fist.

"'M fine," He said defensively.

"Just saying," Angel shrugged. "I think I'd only need one hand to take you down right now." Probably, although the statement didn't help quell Spike's anger. Yeah, he knew he was far from his best right now, but they didn't have time to be careful. He wasn't getting confined to another bloody wheelchair or something now so that Angel could run the sodding show. This show was his own. They were his sidekicks, that's what they were. Silent sidekicks, he could only hope.

"Where is this kissy demon's place, then?" Xander spoke up. He held a stake in his hand, which Spike wanted to snort at the ridiculousness of it—he still couldn't see Xander as much of a fighter, but it was true the little git was an opportunist. Angel and Spike get someone distracted and he'd run right up. And even if he didn't manage to get the kill himself—bloody likely—then Spike and Angel'd be able to finish the job. Still, Spike didn't like the way Xander had chosen a stake as his weapon. So specifically for vampires, and one particular that Spike was worried out.

But not a chance was he letting anyone stake her. Not a bloody way. And definitely not the one-eyed sod.

"This way," Spike didn't mean to growl, but it came out that way anyway, his forcing his eyes to move from the stake and onto the roads. It was a near ghost town, and sunset was soon, less than an hour. They had to find Clarity, and get back on the road before sun was up.

Despite himself, Spike could grudgingly admit that it was probably a good thing they had a human along to drive, it was just unfortunate it had to be Xander.

They stepped over broken pieces of timber and loose stone, more than a couple demons bleeding out, dead. Xander blanched, his expression more disgust than sympathy. Still biased, that one. From what they had told him of Lorne's call, Spike was hoping that they'd be able to steer clear far, far from the Orphanage. Spike could only imagine what kind of sight that would be, and Xander would be a lot more sympathetic to dead children. And less forgiving.

Some of the demons seemed to have died from in-fighting of some sort, but Spike could see a fair amount with their heads or snapped. Seeing as that was Jade's MO with her arms still of no use to her, he could pick out a few of her kills. They seemed random, mostly. Those who got in her way, likely.

He kicked the head of a severed Ano-Movic Demon with more aggression than he intended, and it rolled down to join another pile of corpses. Xander had covered his face with his jacket after many, many comments about the smell. Fires still had yet to die down in some areas, and flickered greedily as they approached.

Angel was watching him, curious, observant, as Spike had kicked the head. Dark eyes bore into him, and Spike figured that Angel could probably tell which kills had been Jade, simply by watching Spike. A frustrated growl rose up in Spike's throat. He'd love to bloody pin it on someone else—anyone else. Tell them all they had their facts wrong, but the more he saw, the more it fit, and he hated it. Like he was betraying her by believing she was capable of such carnage.

And he tried to make it better. _Only demons_ , he reminded himself. But she'd co-existed with them peacefully. Hadn't been dogmatic simply because of what they were. Always gave them a chance. Peaceful. A little too peaceful, he thought, with a pang to his heart. Trusted a Mok'Tagar Demon and…

And yet she was only with the demon because _Spike_ had asked her to. He'd done that. An' he hadn't wanted to ask her to crash with Eddie instead, because of stupid, bloody jealousy and arrogance, and now… Well it was all his damn fault, but he knew that already, didn't he?

The main street still had a few buildings standing. Spike saw a couple of shadows out of the corner of his eye, and turned, but it was only some Bollganeg demons. They were intelligent enough, usually dwelling in sewers or the like. They had thick fur that covered their bodies and several mouths and eyes within that hide. Uninterested, Spike turned away.

Xander wasn't so nonchalant as he saw the demons scurry, in packs, towards the dead.

"What the heck are _those_?" He asked, his voice squeaking a bit at the end. "Aren't you going to—" He gestured.

Angel surveyed the ruin of both bodies and buildings calmly, at ease. "They're scavengers," Angel explained with an unconcerned shrug. "They don't really go after the living."

Xander made a face. "Scavengers of what?"

"Dead bodies. They eat 'em." Spike answered bluntly, enjoying watching Xander squirm a little.

"Gross."

Angel shrugged his massive shoulders again. "Good a disposal as any, Xander. And they eat demons as well as humans. Anything, as long as it's dead."

"They like the day-old smell the best," Spike couldn't help but add.

"Gross." Xander repeated, making a face.

"Come on," Spike said, to tear the man's single eye away from the wreckage. "Don't concern us. Waste o' time, just to keep you from wriggling in your skivvies. We're almost there." He increased his pace, ignoring Xander's increasing pant as the human struggled to keep up with the vampires. And there it was. Squished between two buildings, like the last time. The buildings around it hadn't completely survived the destruction, some blood and gash marks torn into the side of it that were both definitely not human. Spike stepped up to the door, frowning. Last time, it had opened at Jade's touch, but this time, the vines they had seen within had grown in multitudes, creating a thick barrier on the outside that stood as protection. He remembered a long winding hallway from the previous visit, that should be behind the door. But as he tried to jiggle the knob, it held fast, the vines seeming to tighten their hold, if it was possible.

"Buggering hell," Spike muttered.

"We should be able to rip the vines off and step through," Angel suggested, keeping a wary eye behind them.

Spike was tempted, but something told him it was a bad idea. His shoulders rose and fell with a frustrated sigh. He wrapped his fingers around the knob again, cold even in his hands. Then there was a rustling, through the leaves and lichen entwined within the vines, and a mass of small, bobbling eyes appeared, blinking at him. Except they didn't blink in unison, but at their own design, which was considerably unnerving. Spike heard a gasp from Xander, one that reminded him of Jade's own surprise from the time previous.

He found he recalled her words with precision, burned into his head out of usefulness maybe, or just to torture him. Now that she was gone, he ran memories of her through his head. Punishing himself with the thought he might have lost her forever.

"We're here to see Clarity," Spike said with a hard edge to his tone, staring, unblinking into the eyes. They looked back, some blue, some red, some green, all colors, all shades, little glowing orbs. Then they blinked in unison, and sunk back into the foliage, out of sight.

"Come on!" Spike snapped, under his breath. "Give a—" There was a light cracking as the vines began to move, relinquishing their hold on the door. Spike reached for the knob again, finding this time, it gave beneath his hold, and the door opened.

"Holy. There's a whole jungle in here," Xander commented as the three of them stepped off the street and into the small hallway. There was a creak as the door closed behind them, and the vines which had receded latched themselves back onto the door with renewed vitality.

"Hope there's no fire, or anything," Xander said with an audible gulp.

Angel was wary, keeping away from the walls, and trying to keep from stepping on the various vines and roots at their feet. Xander was less graceful, nearly stepping on one, and the lumbering vampire stopped him with a hand to his chest.

"Think Venus Fly trap, not weeds," The vampire said pointedly. "Try not to step on anything."

Xander grumbled a retort under his breath that Spike didn't listen to, pushing past the dangling lichen and vines. His natural grace kept him from missteps. If it had been a bit out of hand this time, the nature was overgrown now, draping and pushing at his shoulders, various colors, and Spike could swear he could see more of the eyes following them as they pushed along. When they made it to the end of the hallway, it opened of its own accord, and Spike stepped through hastily, albeit carefully. It was the same set-up as before, a room with couches, but he only wanted to see one thing.

And there she was, draped along one of the couches, at ease, careless. A violet skin that glimmered, covered only barely with various lichen and vines that did very little to hide her figure. Spike remembered thinking that last time, she had quite a body, for a demon. Now, his eyes didn't linger, focusing on those eyes, black where it should be white, and silver irises looking at the three of them.

"Oh boy. Gee." Xander mumbled somewhat inarticulately. Angel surveyed the woman with curiousity rather than lust, although Spike wouldn't put it past the vampire to be a little mesmerized. Clarity pushed off from the couch, reaching her impressive height, nearly equal with Angel. Her tail swung casually behind her, and she ticked her claws together, smiling easily at the three of them.

"Who comes to Clarity today?" She asked in a deep, husky voice, giving them a coquettish smile as she did a slow, deliberate turn.

"Not single. Not single," Xander muttered under his breath. "Also, she's not a human," he added as a afterthought.

Spike opened his mouth, but Clarity raised a single finger. "Let me peruse," she purred, stepping towards Xander and Angel. Angel stiffened, but didn't move, his eyes carefully averting Clarity's buxom form.

"We're in a bit o' a hurry," Spike spoke up. "You helped us last time, an' we need—"

"I don't rush," Clarity interrupted. "And I cannot be forced," She warned, more amused then strict, as if knowing the thought that had passed through Spike's head. She stepped up to Angel, bringing her claws up to him. He was a statue, wary, dark eyes looking back at the demon, but he didn't move as the black talon gently traced the curve of Angel's cheek.

"Angelus," Clarity said with a knowing smile.

Looking uncomfortable, Angel corrected her. "It's Angel, now."

"Yes, I suppose it is," Clarity agreed, unbothered. "Been that way for quite some time."

"Have I… met you?" Angel asked, his brooding face on in full force as he tried to remember. Spike tapped his foot impatiently, burning with energy. Every second counted, and while the routine was important to the demon and he shouldn't rush her, he wanted to. He'd rip this place to pieces if it made her hurry up, but he knew better. Couldn't be rash, not now.

"No," Clarity smiled. "But I've seen you. You've been looked for, you know. Over the years," She let out a throaty giggle, her claws caressing the pale skin as she stepped past him, shoulder brushing the hulking vampire's. "You are something to be found and avoided."

"I was," Angel corrected her.

Black and silver eyes blinked. "Still are. Champion," She said it with a thrill in her voice, licking her bottom lip. "There will always be those who fear you, and those who want to kill you." Her eyes flickered between Spike and Angel, speaking to them both. "The only souled vampires in the world. In my living room." She giggled.

"Not the only!" Spike snapped, anger rising up in him, loathing her laughter, loathing her easy mood. "Jade's the third." He sounded sullen as he said it, like a bloody child, but it was important. They weren't the only two souled vampires in the world. Wasn't just the two of them, there were three. There would be three.

If she was surprised by this revelation, Clarity gave no indication of it. Spike suspected she knew already as she stepped over to Xander now, who looked increasingly uncomfortable as he tried to keep his one eye on Clarity's strange eyes and not the rest of her. Bloke wasn't the best at it. Appreciated women, be nearly blind not to. Spike remembered Xander giving the robot girl the eyes while Anya was with him. Same robot girl who'd thrown Spike through the window. That had hurt a bit.

"Hello," Clarity sounded delighted. "What do we have here. A human. How deliciously quaint."

Xander looked squeamish. 'Delicious?' He mouthed over Clarity's bare shoulder.

The demon let out a deep, thrilled laugh. "Not literally, handsome." She purred, reaching out to touch Xander with a long, clawed hand. Xander flinched, visibly, but didn't step back as the claws caressed his face.

"Clarity." Spike said, impatient, demanding. He couldn't afford to wait through the whole ordeal. Clarity turned back to him, a slow, long twirl as she stepped up to him now. Each movement was sensual, provocative. It was so different to the demure, humble walk of Jade, who never revealed herself in the way that Clarity did. This demon was sex itself, seductive and tantalizing. The last time he'd seen her, he'd been intrigued, almost more curious and appreciated than he was tempted. Now, he compared Clarity and Jade in each way, finding the demon lacking. He wanted Jade, and he needed Clarity to behave.

He tilted his head back as Clarity reached for him, and she laid her claws on his shoulder instead, drawing her claws gently down his shoulder. He winced as she hit a tender spot, a wound that wasn't quite healed, and her dark lips formed a light 'o' that twisted into a smile.

"How different you are now," Clarity cooed. "Last time, you tolerated my touch. Now, you can barely stand it." She laughed, unperturbed.

"I need your help," Spike said between gritted teeth. "The woman I was wit', Jade, well. She's a vampire. A souled one, usually, but—"

She silenced him with one claw on his mouth. Spike furrowed his brow, furious towards her interruptions, her slowness.

"I know all that," She said, smiling with those bright white teeth. She tapped his temple next. "I know things, yes?" Then she stepped away, and Spike felt relieved.

"You know what happened to her?" Angel asked, and Clarity clucked her teeth as she turned back towards the hulking vampire.

"Walls have eyes," she answered huskily. "And so do I. I'm not so secluded I can't tell when the ground shakes. The outer world does not bother me if I don't wish them to, but I am aware." She stepped away from all of them, and Spike could hear Xander's slow exhale. Man was having a problem keeping it together, but he was determined to center his single eye on the floor.

"Jade's soul was stolen from her," Spike said. "By your friend, Lyth." His tone was not forgiving, but Charity wasn't perturbed, swirling back to her pedestal, a bowl that Spike remembered had been used for the locating spell last time.

"If all who used my services were my friends, then would you and I not be confidantes?" Clarity asked, sounding amused. "So accusatory you are, to find your charge. Your… companion." Her lips tilted into a teasing smile.

"The Mok'Tagar Demon has Jade's soul. We need to find where she is and where she's going," Angel continued.

Clarity pouted. "You champion types. So down to business and serious."

"We need—"

"I know what you need. Fine," She sighed. "But I want my kiss." She looked at them, first at Spike. He grit his teeth but didn't say anything. It was a kiss. He'd give much more to get back Jade. But her black and silver gaze left him, flitting to Angel and then landing on Xander.

"You, handsome, so extraordinarily ordinarily human," She breathed. She gestured with two long clawed fingers. "I want to taste you."

 **AN:** _Last update before Christmas, so merry Christmas to everyone! Or happiest of holidays. Thank you for the reviews. I love reading them. Thank you to ViviH88, xXbriannaXx, LovingAnything, MarshWolffe and BarbyChan4Ever especially, and a very happy birthday to BarbyChan! Hope you all continue to be entertained and enjoy this story. More is definitely written, almost 4 more at least._


	5. Chapter 5

**5**

Xander gulped, visibly and audibly, gawking at the woman who was staring him down. Not a human, a demon, and Xander quailed in reluctance while Spike looked on in impatience.

"I can't," Xander bemoaned. "Dawn, I just. I can't."

"It's one bloody snog," Spike snapped irritably.

"Well, you do it then."

"Well, she didn't bloody choose me, did she?"

Clarity clicked her tongue, making a disapproving noise from where she stood. "Not making a woman feel very welcome," She chastised.

Xander flushed a deep, red. Like Jade had, last time. Bloody hell. It was a bad idea to come here, if just for the reminders that plagued Spike at every sodding turn. Like he needed any more reminders of what was out of his reach, of what he was missing with each second.

"It's not-not you," Xander stuttered. "Trust me. If it was just, wow, then definitely, but I have a girlfriend. And I love her very much, and we're—"

Clarity snapped her tongue again, in sync with her finger shifting from side to side, reprimanding him. "I know many things. Tasted many. Love and lies, and you speak both. No need to sour your tongue with lies."

If possible, Xander reddened further.

"Your love, I do not doubt, handsome man." Clarity took a step towards him. "But eternal, requited love, that is not what you have. You have a desperate hold on a slippery slope, and you will lose it," Clarity blinked her long lashes. "You deny it?" She leaned closer.

Xander swallowed again, and there was undeniable dismay in his eyes. Spike had noticed it, only barely before, but he hadn't looked into it overmuch. Had more bloody things to be concerned with than Harris' uninteresting love life, even if he was with the Bit, something that Spike had had some hard time swallowing, but he could see it now. Dawn's attention was fading, and Xander was losing her. The simple growing apart bit or something like that. But he didn't have the care to analyze the sodding thing. It wasn't his concern.

"No, but…"

"There is always new on the horizon," Clarity's claws touched the underside of his chin. "You are so human. So simple. But you are loyalty itself, bizarre in your normality, and remarkable under the pretense of commonplace. The supernatural is drawn to you, and little wonder why. Even I," Clarity giggled. "I see the charm. But you are not for me." She added, almost sounding a little off-put. "Still. I want my kiss, and I want your taste. You are special, little average one."

Xander licked his lips, still hesitating.

"Dawn wanted you to help Jade any, bloody, way, necessary," Spike reminded him, his voice hard and irritated. Never mind Harris' feelings. Angel was looking a little disquieted that _his_ qualities weren't the ones being sung praises of, prat felt himself a little underappreciated or what have you.

"Right," Xander nodded. "For Ja—Dawn," Harris corrected hastily, seeing the possessive, angry glint in Spike's eyes. "Okay."

Clarity's lips drew into a wide, approving smile and she wasted no time, wrapping her arms around the shorter man and pulling him into her embrace. Xander's hands stretched out, flat, as he awkwardly didn't know where to put them, and the seconds seemed long and drawn out before Clarity suddenly released him, her eyes black.

And then Xander's legs went out from under him, and he fell.

Right. Spike'd forgotten 'bout that. At least Peaches was close enough, and his fast reflexes allowed him to catch Xander before he crashed into a heap on the floor—which admittedly, would have been a tad amusing. Angel tried unsuccessfully to get Xander to stand up on his own, a vexed expression on the hulking vampire as he had to settle with holding up Xander instead.

Clarity was smacking her lips together. "Mhmmm. How delicious," She crowed, pleased.

"Whuhh," Xander groaned, looking woozy.

"Forgot to mention, snogging her weakens the knees a bit," Spike broke in, not quite apologetically. He got an single eye glaring at him in response.

"Forgaw to menshun!" Xander said indignantly, looking like he hadn't slept in the last couple of days. Jade had taken it a little better, Slayer stamina and all, but Spike still remembered that he had to hold her up, her head rolling up into his shoulder. It just had been the thing to do at the time, nothing romantic about it, but he knew now. Knew how he craved her touch, and what he wouldn't give…

"My turn now," Clarity giggled as she stepped over to the bowl, elated and filled with energy. She leaned in, her breasts nearly scraping the edge of the bowl as she let out a violet-misted breath, which sank into the shining water or somewhat. Her clawed fingers followed, and her eyes closed.

"I feel like shomeone didn't plug in my battery," Xander said with flickering half-closed eyes.

"Well, bloody snap out of it. You're driving, remember?"

"Not unless we want to run into a ditch," Angel said with amusement.

"I'm with this guy," Harris slurred.

Spike arched an eyebrow. "What did we bring you along for, I forget."

Xander's eyes bulged open. "Kishes!"

"Well, I don't want any," Spike said indignantly. "Maybe Angel—"

Angel was kept from answering that retort by Clarity clearing her throat.

"Lovely, interesting boys," She cooed. "So different. Not friends, not pals. Soldiers of the same fight," She giggled. Her fingers had been withdrawn from the bowl, and Spike felt his unbeating heart nearly leap to his throat, conversation forgotten.

"Where is the Mok'Tagar demon with Jade's soul?" Spike demanded.

"She hops," Clarity said. "All over."

A growl sounded in Spike's throat, frustration and impatience, and she raised a finger.

"But I have her next locations. She's free, finally, you see. She wants life, and party. She wants to walk among the humans she doesn't belong with." Clarity's eyes returned to their normal, silver irises, looking at the three of them. "I can give you where she'll be, but she'll teleport away if she so chooses."

"We'll deal with that," Spike snapped, though a 'how' evaded him. Just bloody hoped they'd find a way. "Give us where."

"You think fitting the missing piece will reset the game, but it is not so easy. The way down this path will have its own losses." Clarity warned him.

"And if we head back and sit n' stew, waiting for Jade to stumble upon us?" He demanded.

Clarity blinked, slowly, regarding him calmly. "It is no easy task to say," She said simply.

A vexed snarl tore from him. "Then I'm going after that soul. And I _will_ give it back to her."

Clarity looked at him for a long moment. "So you say," She said finally. "But things are so often out of our hands."

* * *

"Ow, ow, bloody ow," Spike snapped as they rushed back through the streets.

"At least you're not carrying dead weight," Angel grumbled, wincing from the sun's not so-gentle slather. They'd gotten what they came for—he bloody well hoped—and left the demon back in her shop, with the hope they could find Lyth at one of the locations. Sooner better than bloody later. And Clarity'd invited them all to stay and wait out the sun, but there was no sodding time to wait.

'Cept now his bloody skin was sizzling.

"Least he bloody covers you up a bit," Spike shot back, shifting his jacket over his head.

"The only _not_ dead weight around here, I'd like to menshun," Xander announced from where he was slung over Angel's shoulder.

"He's not an umbrella," Angel sounded disappointed. "And he keeps moving his arms."

"This ish _very_ uncomfortable," Xander snapped back. "I'm just glad I _can_ move my arms. Like the resht of me, they feel like rubber."

Spike rushed to the car with renewed vehemence as it came into view. The streets were still mostly empty, though the demon bodies were not numerous. One for the Bollganeg demons. He'd been looking for Lorne, making sure the green-skinned demon hadn't gotten caught after the fact, but there'd been nothing, and Spike was grateful. Wherever Lorne was, at least he knew how to look after himself. Angel was likely disappointed that they hadn't run into him, as Spike suspected it was one of the reasons that Peaches had come along. No time to lament it now, he shoved the keys into the car and started it, pulling the special shades in place, first in the front and then towards the back. Angel dumped a noodly like Xander in the front seat.

"Can you drive yet?" Angel asked. "I'm not looking forward to a sunburn all the way to Las Vegas."

Las Vegas. That'd been the first place on Clarity's list, and Spike bloody well hoped it wasn't going to be a long chase. Of course that's where the broad would go, ready to party with a conscience that wasn't hers. Jade'd told him the story once, and he knew enough of Mok'Tagar Demons himself. They usually stuck to their own selves in their own dimension, but some would flee to this one, until the old folks tracked 'em down and brought them back to their own kind. They'd be able to sense where their child, whatever was, but the way their faces grew, it was hard to see them. So they did that whole soul-detecting thing. Knew who was theirs by the glowing lack of a soul.

Hence why Lyth had spent so much time in Haven. Hiding. And now she had what she wanted after who bloody knew how long, and she was going to use it like a get out of Jail free card. Spike trembled with hatred each time he thought of it. _Wasn't bloody hers_ , he thought with a venom. Lyth'd stolen what hadn't belonged to her, and Spike was going to make her pay for it, pay for every single second Jade had spent without her soul. The lives she'd taken.

"Depens," Xander said. "Do we have to make it one piece?"

Despite his concerns, they had Harris behind the wheel, Spike and Angel crawling into the back, glaring at each other and making it very clear that they weren't huddling from the sun together, very much pressed to the opposite side of the car. Four sodding hours, it'd be.

And if the Mok'Tagar Demon wasn't there by the time they'd get there…

Spike pulled his blanket closer around him. Couldn't think like that. Couldn't think of whatever Jade was doing now. Could only hope she was somewhere, alone. With no-one to hurt her or get hurt by. While her arms healed. An' he should be with her. He bloody knew that. Sending her off, so barely defended, bloody hell. Guilt and regret were sodding everything that plagued him.

The jerky movements of the car didn't matter. Spike didn't think he could sleep much either way. The stops were near unbearable, the downsides of travelling with a sodding human. Needed food, needed a sodding loo break, needed this and that, while Angel and Spike drank from the cooler's blood in the back of the car. 'Least it was only four hours, though it felt like an eternity.

Xander was still munching on a pretzel as they approached Las Vegas. Bet there was lots of sodding partying going on, being near after New Years, but at least Clarity had given them a specific location, her powers somewhat more clear now that their quarry wasn't in Haven.

"Last time I was here, we had to rescue Lorne," Angel was reminiscing. "And, I lost my destiny."

"Shame, that," Spike said with mostly sarcasm and little concern. "Thought you already fulfilled it—being a giant sod and all that."

A glare from Angel was cut off by the car being jerked up and down.

"Bloody hell, Harris," Spike snapped irritably.

"Sorry," The man muttered. "Speed bump. I'm still a little jelly-like."

"Jelly-brained," Spike retorted back. "Get us closer to the door. Don't fancy burning up anymore today." 'Least his skin had finally begun to lose that red tint from their earlier sodding soiree, and it wasn't so tender. The blood helped, soothing his new aches and hopefully the old ones.

"Do casinos even open this early?" Xander asked as he piled out of the car, following a bit more clumsily and slowly after the two vampires.

"Yeh, being a bloody zombie starts early enough. Gotta rope people in to spending their entire days in front of the slots," Spike called back from underneath the overhang, slapping at the collar of his shirt where it'd begun to smoke a tad. A smoke. He'd made Xander get him a couple of low brand kinds from one of the stops they'd made, and he jammed one into his mouth. Had enough time. Would make some, anyway.

"Likely that some are still going from last night," Angel commented.

"It's ten in the morning," Xander protested.

"I'm just saying. Sometimes there's perfectly good reasons to spend. Hours. In front of a slot machine. Basically drooling. But not. Really drooling," The vampire said back, scratching self-consciously at his neck.

"We've got to stick together," Spike said, breaking into focus mode. There wasn't any room for sodding error. "Broad has a thing for face-changing rings. Not to mention she can rip her skin off and re-grow it fairly quick. Should be able to find her by scent. Likely."

"Likely?" Xander echoed incredulously. "Are you saying that you're not even sure what she looks like?"

Spike growled. "I _said_ , broad likes playing looky-loo games. I should have an idea."

* * *

The hours did not pass quickly. No, they were like bloody grains of sand that kept falling back up to bollix the whole hourglass system up. The windows outside got brighter, and then darker, and the sun was falling back down again, and Spike was nearly beside himself with impatience. Angel had tried to force him to sit at a table for a bit, take a break and have a drink, but that had lasted only minutes until Spike had tried to walk up in the middle of a game, unable to pretend.

Now he sat at the slot machine, sitting there and doing nothing. None of the other 'zombies' seemed to notice, however, so involved they were with pulling a lever, he got barely a second glance, except from some of the more dressed up women who walked past him on their way to the adjoining club room. And he saw them all. They giggled and smiled coquettishly as they noticed his eyes on them, and more than a few tried to talk with him, but Spike's clipped answers and clear disinterest got most of them moving on so Spike could survey the new batch.

He knew what to look for, mostly. Knew the demon's preferred form, if not her natural one. She wanted to be a looker, wanted to steal the show, and though there were a few, all glammed up and dolled for a stroll through Vegas, Spike spared them hardly more than a hard glance and a deep exhale. Human, human. Human. Demon, but not the kind he was looking for. A vengeance demon, how quaint. Spike wondered who she was drawn to, for she noticed Spike, as well as Angel and Xander, but stepped past them all, in the confidence of a few gossiping women, one talking about how her fiancé had run off after having his bachelor here the previous week. Still, it didn't concern Spike. If it wasn't the Mok'Tagar Demon or Jade, then he didn't care who they were.

Angel was more intrigued by the Vengeance demon, suggesting they keep an eye on her, and Xander had gotten a glum look on his face when they'd mentioned the whole 'vengeance' part, no doubt thinking of his dead honey. Spike wondered if that was the reason for some of the rough spots between Harris and Dawn, then found he didn't care very much to think about it for long. It was human affairs, and none of his, even if it included the little Bit. She could handle herself. Spike was no big brother. Been near one once. Messed up a few times since then.

Pretty big, just recently. Dawn taking a liking to Jade or not, she wouldn't take very well to Spike hurting big Sis's feelings. In front of her generals, no less. Still. Buffy was good at hiding her feelings about Spike from everyone else, acting like she gave no damn. Give her more bloody practice, is all. He covered his own fear that he'd made a grave mistake with resentment. Whether or not he got Jade back, Buffy wasn't the end all. Sometimes being with her was drinking poison. Killed him, just slowly. And he'd died enough.

Truth was, he didn't think it'd be that easy if he never got Jade back. Hard to practice apathy with no distraction. Not that Jade was a distraction, bloody hell. Spike ran his fingers through his mussed curls, digging hard into his scalp. He was beginning to think Clarity was just covering her pal-o's back and sent them in the complete wrong direction, and it frustrated him near to the point of tears. He just didn't know. He was stumbling through it all like a sodding blind man.

Harris and Angel had taken turns leaving him. Probably didn't trust him with no supervision, although what could Harris do if Spike fancied a fight? But seeing as Spike wasn't trying to blend in, the others had done their part to ask around.

It was Xander who returned now, drink in hand, and his cheeks slightly flushed. Spike bit back the urge to snap at him. Wasn't the bloody time to get plastered. Had a sodding mission at hand, but he supposed the sod was trying to get over whatever Clarity had brought to the surface. Either way, Spike spared only a quiet, irritated hiss, keeping his eyes once more on the entrance.

"There's a back hall to the club," Xander informed them. "Those staying at the hotel can enter through that, instead of going through the casino. She might have gotten in that way."

Spike was on his feet in a single, fluid gesture, graceful and quick and earning a few impressed looks from the onlookers. Not those on the machines, of course. Didn't even look up. "Need to check it then," He said brusquely, frustrated that they hadn't discovered that earlier. What if she had been and already left?

"Let's go," Angel said, as if he was Big Boss, but Spike followed him without complaint. Xander nodded his jerky head and the three of them entered the club.

Spike sat by the bar, leaned against the stool so he could see the whole area best he could. There was an upper level, and Spike scanned it best he could. The music was loud, and the place was packed. So many smells flashes, it was hard to look through it all. Bloody hell, they could be here all night. His hand slammed down so hard on the counter, he nearly spilled the drink of the person sitting next to him. He got a disgruntled glare for his trouble, but shot one back, just as icy, and the lug of the man turned back 'round without a word.

For the better, he supposed. As tempted as he was to pick a fight—he bloody needed something to calm him down, he was so twisted up and stiff—he couldn't afford being distracted.

He needed to sit, watch and wait.

* * *

Xander found her first. Sodding Xander, but it was a accident, of course. He'd did a round 'round the place and then sat down beside Spike after Spike had flashed his yellow eyes and fangs to convince the already malcontent man that he should move on, and Xander had taken the empty seat.

"You know," Harris was saying, drinking miserably from his straw. "I'm not going to say it hasn't been amazing with Dawn. It really has. She's really grown up and all. Used to have a crush on me. I was her hero, you know. Guess that kinda evolved from a crush to an actual like like, and you know, I'm not saying I was like, liking her when she was really young, like child young. Not that I guess I really knew her when she was younger, I guess. I mean, before the whole fourteen years, but even then Buffy'd would have had a problem with that. Anyway. I was her hero. And she was always cute, and then she just turned into the sophisticated young woman and now she's studying arts and stuff, and she's graduating soon, and I guess I should be glad that she's kind of turning her back on the whole Slayer thing. She's not staying at the base as much anymore, staying at dorm instead, and I thought, hey, I could do this, maybe. Be less Slay-oriented and more real-world, but I mean, how do you just turn your back and pretend not to know what you know? And I know that the whole world knows about vampires now, but you'd be surprised by how many people give you a giant 'huh' look when you mention it, like you're the one crazy and they're not the ones with a sack over their head."

"And I get it. She wants that. She's feeling like she's in Buffy's shadow all the time, but now she's the one with a real world education, gets to finish her degree like Buffy never got to, and she wants to spend more time with her study buddy 'Philippe' because he just 'understands what I'm talking about, Xander, we connect on an intellectual level, you understand'?" Xander's voice became mocking and high-pitched. "So, like, I'm not going to be jealous or anything. I'm the one spending time with young Slayers all day. But I could be jealous. I have every right to be jealous of blonde Mr. Swiss with the huge muscles. But I'm not. She could be jealous of the Slayer girls, but she has no reason to. Because I would never. Not that she would ever, but sometimes I feel like I'm holding her back, and of course I don't want to, but like what is she going to see in me? And I can understand the brush-offs and all that, but it still stings. I mean. I used to be her hero. Me!" He glanced back at Spike. "You know what I'm saying?"

"Good. Bloody. Lord, Harris, I haven't been listening since you first opened your mouth. What the bloody hell are you going on about, anyway?" Spike had forcibly torn his gaze away from the crowd to look at the one-eyed man staring sullenly into his cup.

"Nothing. I'm just saying. No reason to be untrusting, here. She's all the way in Toronto, studying with Philippe, but there's nothing going on. Just like there's nothing going on with me over here, just because there's beautiful women everywhere, and damn, that woman is gorgeous." Xander let out a long drawn sigh, his gaze flickering up through. "So hot. Not that I'm looking, or anything."

Spike rolled his eyes, disinterestedly following Xander's ogle. And there she was. In the thick of it all, bumping and grinding and dancing. Wearing her normal face, a wide smile on her face.

One she didn't deserve to have.

Bloody bitch.

"Xander," Spike snapped, his tone so icy that Xander looked at him immediately, likely equally surprised that Spike hadn't made up another nickname. "That's her. Bloody her."

Startled, Xander looked back. "The brunette? The one with the nice—"

"That's her." Spike glanced up to the balcony, where Angel had been sniffing around, trying to catch sight of the hulking vampire. Spike spun around to the bartender. "Two Bronxes. An' make it snappy, mate." He said it curtly and quickly, slapping some wrinkled bills on the glass counter. Xander's eye widened with surprise, perplexed.

"You chose _now_ to start drinking?" He questioned.

"Not for me. Take these. Walk over to her and get 'er talking while Angel an' I close in."

"Get her—get that—I mean. Not that I don't have experience with talking to beautiful women. I've had plenty. I'm a lucky guy. But someone like _me_ doesn't walk over to someone like _that_ and get anything but a cold shoulder."

The drinks came and Spike shoved them towards Harris. "I don't sodding care how you do it," He all but snarled. "You're a foppish looking sod, but maybe she'll find the eyepatch at least interesting. Jus' don't let her think you're a gay pirate or somethin' along those lines."

"A gay pirate!" Xander echoed indignantly, then lowered his voice as he caught the attention of a few onlookers, who were likely now viewing him with a different outlook. "I'm telling you, this is going to go south—"

"I don't care, Harris!" Spike snapped. "Just keep her distracted. She sees me, this is sodding over. Keep her distracted until Angel an' I can come in."

"What's going to keep her from teleporting away?" Xander's one eye bore into his.

"I just—I got it bloody covered, already? Now hurry up!" He sent the man on his way, anxiously glancing back into the crowd to make sure that Lyth hadn't seen him—or worse, teleported away, sitting in the stool and stewing for a moment longer. He'd sent Xander away under the pretense of being under a bloody time constraint, and although that wasn't far off the track—they didn't have a great deal to waste here, most of it was that Spike didn't have an answer to his question. Didn't have a sodding plan there.

How to keep her from just popping away? Sod if he knew. No magic, no Willow. No sodding Willow. She could leave any time. See them coming, and off she goes. He wasn't sure how well she could teleport even if they managed to grip onto her, but he didn't want to find out. No, he had nothing. Just hope. That's it. Hoping that somehow, she'd hesitate. Violence was likely not an option, so he'd have to rely on the few other things he was good at. Sodding talking his mouth off. Had to convince her to give up the soul.

He pushed off from the stool, wading into the crowd. He could see Xander had approached the Mok'Tagar, a slightly uneasy expression on his idiotic face. Hopefully Lyth would just think it was nerves, and not anything alterior.

Sodding hope. It was all he had.

He moved through the crowd, losing his grace in exchange for haste, knocking more than a few shoulders by as he looked for the hulking vampire. Frustration and a knowledge of the ticking clock increased his anxiety, and he was about to give up and return to Xander when he felt the presence behind him.

"Find her?" Angel asked, quietly, but Spike could hear him just barely over the din. He twirled to look at the hulking vampire, who was regarding him with a curious, almost worried expression. Yeah, yeah. Spike knew he was slipping, letting Peaches sneak up on him.

"Yeh," Spike burst out. "Goofy's talkin' to her now."

"Alright," Angel let the white-haired vampire take the lead. "How do you want to do this?"

"Just stay close."

* * *

"And I thought, wow. She could really use a drink. Well, not use a drink. I mean, not that you need one. Appreciate one? Maybe?" Xander was giving her a crooked, anxious smile.

And there was Lyth. Hair all curled, done up, her eyes sparkling with some sort of silver eyeshadow, matching the shiny dress she had on that hid little and displayed much. She was looking at Xander as one might glance at a clumsy puppy. There was a hint of irritation, but amusement overwhelmed it. She tilted her head, regarding him. "You're a little inept, aren't you? Oh, that was rude." A frown crossed her features before an apologetic expression could take place. She narrowed her eyes then, in a brief confusion, then shook her head. "Whatever. You want to go to my room?" It was a casual, easy offer. Xander's eye widened.

"Well, uh, uh.." His eye twitched, as if he wanted to look over to Angel and Spike for support, but thought better of it. Didn't want to tip his hand, as he sodding shouldn't. "Yes," Harris gulped. "Sure."

"Great." There wasn't much inflection in the word. "It's here, in the building. Come on." The vampires were careful to keep in the crowd as Xander and Lyth began a slow swing, dropping their glasses off on a tray. Lyth worked the two of them to the far edge of the room, displaying her violet bracelet.

"He's with me," Lyth said, unapologetically, to the bouncers, who looked a bit regretful, but nodded, letting them through. Spike and Angel were careful to keep their distance, then rushed over as soon as the doors closed.

"Need t'get through there, mate," Spike said, with little patience.

The large bouncer looked at him dismissively. "Need a purple wristband. For hotel guests only."

"Can't make an exception?" Angel asked, not sounding overly persuasive. Didn't need to. Spike knew his grandsire well enough to know that the hulking vampire was itching for a fight just as much as Spike was.

"No." The bouncer growled, the other guard crossing his arms in front of his chest with added emphasis. Spike shrugged.

"'Ave it your way, then." He rushed the bouncer, smacking his head against the wall. Spike got a slap to his already aching chest for his trouble, but he ignored it, kicking aptly at the man's kneecap and earning a pained grunt. Again, he slammed the man's head into the wall, and this time, woozy and eyes flickering, the bouncer wasn't so quick to rise. His heart was beating, he was fine, though aptly knocked out. Spike thought back to both when he wouldn't have worried about leaving a human alive, and when he hadn't been able to so much as _try_ to hurt a human and had the worst pain he ever felt in his noggin. He looked across his shoulder, where Angel was choking the other guard, his arm like a log across the man's throat. Heartbeat slowed, breath came in rasps, and Angel let him fall to the ground.

Angel gave him a satisfied look. "Wouldn't be as much fun if we were just let in." Angel fancied himself a rule breaker sometimes. Thinking he was all big scary and intimidating when he spent most of his time rescuing kittens out of trees, but Spike just gave him an answering grunt. Was at least refreshing, having someone there who matched his movements, knew what he was thinking of doing before he did it. Angel had his back, and as weird as it was, Spike was glad for it. Hell, been like that for years, really, although with a lot more animosity—or maybe the same, soul or not, that didn't change—than they did now. They almost had a respect, an understanding for each other from time to time. And they fought well together.

But so did he and Jade. Despite the vampire's strength and speed, Angel was no replacement for her. In many. Ways. Her smiles, the way her eyes shone in the midst of the fight. Bloody hell, in so many ways.

But she wasn't here. Angel was. An' even though he still could hardly believe Angel of all people was tagging along, Spike'd make use of him. Make use of anyone, if it meant getting Jade back. And first things first. Corner Lyth, get that soul.

Get that soul, and they'd be that much closer. He'd be that much closer, to getting Jade back. To fixing it all.


	6. Chapter 6

**6**

Spike and Angel opened the doors easily, leaving the men slumped against the wall. None of clubbers had noticed them, so busy they were in their mundane, little dances that they couldn't see danger under their nose, even now being aware of what walked in the night. Still, all the better for them. They didn't need another commotion. They stepped through into the hallway. Had left Xander alone with that Mok'Tagar Demon for a few moments now. Spike hoped nothing had happened to the sod.

Dawn'd light him on fire if that was the case.

The corridor was empty, a spiralled purple, orange neon and black carpet that'd give him a headache if he looked at it too long, and dim, old-fashioned looking lamps casting a hazy glow on the vertically striped white walls.

The corridor was empty, but Spike could hear a faint protest that was undeniably the Droopy boy.

"I mean, I don't really think that… we have to do this right this second. We could get to your room first. Or have a nice drink in a like, public place." Xander sounded a little breathless, and in silent, but swift strides, Spike and Angel rounded the corner, their black jackets sweeping out behind them in unison. And there she was, sodding close now. Her slender, but voluptuously curved body had caged between the wall and her, and she was looking at him perplexed, and a little offended. Lyth's lipstick was smeared a little, and from the pink tinge to Xander's cheeks and the off-color of his mouth, Spike could see where it had been smeared onto.

"You don't want me?" She tried to sound affronted, but it came out like a pained whine instead, uncertainty flashing in those brown eyes. And then she saw them. Saw Spike first, her eyes landing on him with no modicum of obliviousness. Fear, but not surprise colored her expression, and then her mouth hardened into a straight line, kicking at Xander's heel and sending the boy tripping, stumbling towards her. She steadied him as she rotated back, her hand clutched at his throat as she used him as a body shield, a wall between her and a vampire. Her eyes shone a bright, unnatural demon blue.

"I'll tear his throat out if you come closer," She warned. One hand was splayed across Xander's stomach. "So that's why you didn't want to have sex with me," Lyth cooed to her captive. "You're with them, obviously. Good, I was beginning to think I lost my touch."

Xander made a sound that wasn't entirely intelligible, due to the voracity in which the Mok'Tagar demon grabbed his throat.

"Worried you, did it?" Spike growled. He and Angel had frozen in almost equal tandem, though Spike's foot had carried him further before he took Lyth's threat to heart.

"And here I was, thinking I was doing you a charity," Lyth continued to chastise Xander. "You know, once a week, pick an obviously mundane, gawky man and give him the night of his life, but you were making me think there was something wrong with _me_. Kind of rude."

Her fingers released enough for him to cough out a, "Sorry." His single eye widened towards Angel and Spike in alarm and obvious concern for his own life. As he rightly should be. Mok'Tagar demons packed a punch. Not to be trifled with, but that was exactly what Spike was sodding doing. Just the look of her incited a rage in him, clenching his hands into fists so hard he heard them crack. Her dress was high-collared, not her style, but he had no doubt it was to hide what was not hers. He could almost see it, in his mind's eye, a little bulge at her throat that he wanted to rip off, her throat included.

"It's nice to see you squirm. You're kind of cute when you fear for your life," Lyth smiled to Xander. The demon's vivid blue eyes had returned to Spike to see where he had his. "Don't even think about it," Lyth warned. "Okay, we both know you're thinking about it, but don't try it, or one-eyed boy gets his throat out."

"Just let him go," Angel said quietly. "We just want to talk."

Lyth sent him a smouldering gaze. "As if I'd trust anything you'd say, Angelus."

"Angel. It's Angel. Does every demon know who I am?" Angel shrugged his shoulders in mild annoyance.

"Just the ugly ones, I imagine," Spike shot back.

Lyth's eyebrows shot down towards her eyes, angry, her fingers tightening on her catch.

Xander let out a wheeze. "Please don't make the nice lady holding my throat angry," his voice was hardly more than a squeak.

"That's rude. I'm not ugly. I just like the rings to change my appearance. Not that I need to!" Lyth snapped irritably.

"A bit sensitive today, are you?" Spike asked, his voice spiteful. "I wonder why."

Lyth looked at him, her expression cold. "It was a waste of time to try to find me. You can't catch me. Poof, and I'm gone. It's that simple."

"But you're not yet, are you?" Spike asked. "Just turn tail an' run, you sodding bint."

"Spike," Angel warned, his black eyes flitting from between the demon and Spike.

"Have you noticed things are a bit off yet? Technicolor not working out for you?"

"I'm doing just fine, thank you," Lyth said, her fingers digging into Xander's arm. "Better than ever. Not that I needed it. I was doing just fine without it—"

"Didn't need it!" Spike snapped. "Didn't need? It's not yours! Don't you bloody treat Jade's soul like a purse you couldn't help buying, you bitch. It was never yours. You took it from her."

Lyth's lips thinned. "It wasn't a grand plan. I just thought about it. Plenty. And you—you hand delivered her into my lap, and finally. I could do it. So I did, and is that so wrong? I saw an opportunity, and I used it."

"She trusted you!" Spike snarled.

"Well, that was her mistake," Lyth said simply, just enough sympathy entering her tone. "She knew what I wanted. All this time. And I respected her enough to know she could stop me. So I didn't try. But this time. I knew I could." Her eyes glowed with faint triumph.

"You bitch."

"I've spent years here. A hundred, nearly. Hiding. Hanging out with the most deplorable of company so that my kind wouldn't come here and drag me back. I deserved this. Finally. I deserved my freedom."

"So you can live it up and party," Spike sneered. "You're bloody disgusting."

"No, the people I had to spend time with were disgusting. Demons with fur hanging from their nose or five eyes. Vampires, like yourselves. I'm tired of it." Lyth's eyes travelled between the two champions.

"Bleeding. Tragedy, that is." Spike said, not attempting to control his sarcasm. "Write a sodding book 'bout it."

Lyth regarded him coolly. "I bet you were a lot hotter before you got a conscience."

"Well, your addition didn't make you any less bloody ugly. I think it made it worse."

She blinked, her lips screwing up, ruffled. Not quite the hard bitch that she was before, who gave no bloody shits about anything. She was different. Spike could see that, although right now, it just served to make her more deplorable. "I'm going to leave now," She told them. "Don't follow me."

"Don't go." Spike growled. Lyth tilted her head haughtily.

"You have no control over me." She said, and now her lips twisted into a smile. "You can't stop me."

"Your ticket to bloody ride isn't free. Y'think it is. But it'll change you. That soul's not yours. Won't fit right." She was right, sodding right. He couldn't stop her, but he could talk. Hurling insults had gotten nowhere, and as much as he hated the desperate edge that crept into his tone, he didn't have a choice.

Lyth hesitated, then shook her head. "You and your kind. Humans too. Hold your souls in such high regard, like it makes you better than everyone else. It doesn't. Humans can do terrible things without their souls too."

Jade had said something like that to him once. His heart clenched painfully.

Lyth continued, "Souls don't make you good, automatically. They're consciences, that's it. A measure of morality, not a get out of jail free card. They can be ignored. I can ignore it."

"Not forever," Spike said, hoarse. "Not hers. She's got a sodding heart of gold, that one. It'll annoy you to death, I promise. You can't ignore Jade forever. She'll fight you, and you'll give up eventually."

"I'll take that bet," Lyth said, sounding unworried.

"She'll creep into your every thought. She'll be in the dreams you have at night. Every good thing. You'll want to help sodding old ladies across the street. You'll want to put a coin in the cup of a 'omeless man. You'll see a sodding cat and want to pet it, 'cause she loves those damn things. She will be every good impulse that you ever, bloody have. She'll be your whole light. But it's not all good n' daisies, because she'll be wanting. She'll make you look at every article that pertains to Slayers and Vampires, 'cause she'll be worried. She'll make you want to help. An' you'll see me. Down every street. 'Cause I'll keep looking for you, an' she'll be looking for me too. Every long black coat, each hint of white blonde hair, you'll think it's me. You'll know I'll be hunting you, an' at first, you'll be frightened of the big bad on your tail. You'll keep running, and I'll keep finding. But eventually. You'll get sloppy. You'll slow down. Make a mistake. Y'think it's an accident, but it'll be her. Tryin' to get back to me. An' I'll be there." He slapped his hands together, a loud clap.

Lyth flinched, looking flabbergasted.

"I'll be there to get her back. She belongs in her body. Not as a sideshow to your sodding life. She belongs with me, an' you can be damn sure that wherever you go, I'll be following. For the rest. Of. Your. Life. You Mok'Tagars might live damn long lives, but so do I. I'll get her back. But you can spare her the sodding waiting of it all. Before she punishes you for it. Before she makes you slip. Because she will. An' you won't be able to tell who wants what. If it's her. Or you. You fancy yourself Queen of your own destiny, running from your mom n' pops, but it won't be a you. It'll be a we. And then it'll be a her. You know you feel it already. Never had a soul, had you? This one has no less baggage than the rest. It'll eat you alive and turn you bloody bonkers. You can't handle it. Can't handle Jade. So give her. Back. To. Me."

Those unnatural eyes stared into his. For the first time since he'd met the bloody bird, she seemed speechless. Spike dared to hope. And then Lyth was releasing Xander, pushing the sod towards Angel, who caught the man easily, tensing forward for the chase. And Lyth was just standing there, her fingers propped to her jugular. Where Jade's soul lingered. "She's not yours anymore. There's no popping it back in and making it all better. If you want Jade," Lyth raised up her chin defiantly. "There's only one thing you can do. Find her. Love her as she is, without her soul. Or kill her. That's the only thing you can do now." Her gaze held Spike's, cool, sympathetic, anxious and uncertain all at once. Hesitating, unsure. Her gaze flickered over to Xander then, a brief, almost longing look.

And then she was gone. Poof.

"No!" Spike yowled, rushing the spot where she had been. Nothing. Not so much of a lock of hair. She was gone faster than a snap of the fingers. "No. Bloody, sodding. No. Please." He'd been so close. So close. He had to be. He'd broken her down, made her hesitate, double bloody guess herself. He'd wear her down. It wasn't over. It couldn't be over. What she suggested wasn't the only option less. It wasn't. He could still get Jade back, as she was supposed to be.

"Spike," Xander said, his dark eye pitying as he looked at the vampire. Spike swung back at him, his chest heaving up and down like he'd run a marathon. Like he needed to breathe, but he'd done neither. "I'm sorry."

"S'not over." Spike mumbled, running his hand through his mess of curls.

"We tried," Angel pointed out. "There's not much more we can do now. We can—"

"Of course there's more we can do!" Spike argued. "There's all we can sodding do. Clarity gave us the next locations? So we try again. And again, and again. I don't care how many times it takes. She'll break. Or I'll make her break." He ran his tongue over his blunt teeth so hard that it still drew blood anyway. He clamped down hard on the iron tang, hoping it would calm him somehow. It didn't. A vicious, desperate growl in his throat, he swung his hand, punching the wall. He left a small, knuckle-shaped dent, and his hand stung, but it wasn't enough. Didn't calm the rage in him. He'd failed. Again.

Xander and Angel exchanged a glance.

"I don't sodding care. What you have to say," Spike said in a cold, clipped tone. "If you wan'na help me, then stay out o' my bloody way. If y'want to leave, then good, bloody on you. Leave. I don't care. I'm getting that soul."

And he turned down the hallway, next place visibly branded in his mind. Clarity had given them three precise locations. Two more chances. He could do it, alone or bloody not. He would do it. As long as it took.

* * *

They came with him. He didn't expect it. The loyalty wasn't to him, of course. He'd done so bloody little in his life to inspire something like that. Xander's tenacity was likely due to him wanting to appease little Miss Nibblet while he could, and Angel, well, the sod always had something up his sleeve. Spike cared less than normal. The next stop was Denver. They'd driven the car as high as Xander would dare—which was never fast enough, nearly on fumes each time they went to fill up. The cooler in the back seat emptied of blood all too quickly, and Harris only had meals on the go. Spike was barely willing to give the sod that. So desperate he was to make it, just make it in time. It'd been a day, and then two days since he'd left Jade.

They'd reached Denver, the hotel that Clarity had promised, only to find that Lyth had moved on an hour earlier. Spike had picked up the lobby's couch and thrown it at the vending machines, destruction that was not nearly satisfying enough. Angel had forced the white-haired vampire out of the hotel while Harris finished up and apologized for the mess. Then they were on their way to Kansas City next. Last chance. It was dark again, and Spike was driving, Xander sitting up front while Angel snoozed in the back, the hulking vampire demanding the most space. Still. Spike was surprised so far that the most his Grandsire had shoved him around was after he'd made that spectacle in the hotel lobby.

He'd been surprisingly lenient. His patience was obviously near the end of its tether, but the fact that Peaches had any for him was a shock. There had to be some ulterior motive. Didn't ever 'spect that help from Angel. Angel loathed him with a passion, even when they were allies. And they weren't ever friends, even if they were solid battle partners. Gets to be that way after they spend a couple decades together. Still. Peaches had detested Spike intruding on his little Wolfram & Hart gig, hated that he was there, that he was a sodding reminder of Buffy's dalliance. But that wasn't the case now. Spike'd removed himself from the competition. And there was no time for regret. He was just focused. Find Lyth. Get Jade. If this time didn't work out…

Well he'd drive back to Haven and get three more locations from Clarity. Ten. Or he'd hire some demon to help find her for him. Lovoth demons were a dog-like breed. Good at picking up scents if they were within the same city. Just wave some meat in front of him—and a scent, and they were good to go. Although they mainly just liked children—not specifically human, young animals worked too—so Spike'd have to work something out.

But he would. Whatever it would take.

Harris teetered off a half-snore, blinking his eye out at the road, checking rapidly to make sure Spike hadn't driven them in a demon dimension in his nearly-crazed obsession to find Jade, and then calmed down, his heartrate settling somewhat. That was something Spike hadn't been used to, having a heart beat that close to him, in the atmosphere of a car where there was little else to detract from it. Jade's had been silent all through their roadtrip, being already dead at the time. Xander's was a frantic thing, all fast and loud.

"We almost there?" Xander asked, swallowing a yawn.

Spike tightened his fingers 'round the wheel. "No."

"Right," Xander looked contrite, reaching into the bag at his feet and pulling out a few granola bars. He chomped noisily, 'least it seemed that way in the silence. "You know, we're not all gouda."

"What?" Spike shot a confused look at the man.

Xander swallowed a particularly large chunk. "Good. You and me. You hurt Buffy back there, and that's a no go."

Spike scoffed, his eyes back on the road. "She can handle it," He said, bitter. "Sure it won't shatter her stars none."

"Now that's stupid," Harris protested. "She cares for you. A lot, and you just—"

"What. Threw it in her face in front o' everyone? Like she hasn't done the same to me. She can _handle_ it, Harris. Ain't no heartbroken cheerleader. She kept me along 'cause it's easiest. She doesn't have to work for it, or think she was going to get burned. I was a safe bloody bet, an' that's all."

"I'm not going to pretend that I _ever_ understood Buffy's feelings for you," Xander said. "Or liked it, for that matter. Or you, at all."

"This going somewhere?" Spike asked curtly, sucking in a breath of smoke from his cigarette as he lit it, one hand on the wheel. He didn't much care for Xander's holier than bloody him speech, 'specially since he knew this song n' dance already.

"Yeah, it's going somewhere." Xander's head bobbed a little up and down, brushing his wavy hair back from his forehead. "I think it's because I never thought you were good enough for Buffy. How could you be? All the things you did. Kidnapping me and Willow. Killing lots, lots of people. Guess it clouded my head a little. And I don't think I'll ever like you. But Dawn's helped open my eyes. And I guess I can understand you. I forgave Anya, so I guess I could get why someone would forgive you. Even Buffy. But I can't pretend I'm not relieved you've moved on, really. Jade seems really… well. She's nice. She's kind. And I'm sorry for what's happened to her."

The cigarette on his lips trembled, but Spike steeled his jaw. "Don't need your sympathy."

"I know. Look, I'm not saying we'll ever be friends. But I'm just saying. Jade's the one for you, good, I'm all for that. We'll fix it, somehow. Fixed worse things, haven't we? I mean, how many times has that guy gotten his soul stuck back in him?" He pointed at the still, sleeping figure of Angel. "And good, because it means you've moved on. But you can move on and just not… stick it in the face of Buffy."

"I wasn't," Spike growled. "She had her soldiers all in a knit. Readying the pitchforks 'cause Jade's not one of hers? To spite me—"

"That's where you're wrong," Xander interrupted. "See, you're too close to it. She wasn't trying to hurt you. She's sacrificing one to save everyone. She's the chosen one, and she's had to make that decision so many times. Don't mistake resolve for it being easy on her. She's doing what she has to do. She has a lot of lives to look out for, and she does. She cares for every single one of them."

"So what?" Spike mumbled through his smoke. "Jus' supposed to sit back and let her kill Jade 'cause it's the right thing to do, because Harris, I promise you right now, that will never, bloody, happen."

"No. What I'm saying is, she talks tough. But she'll try to find a way. She always does. Just… give her the benefit of the doubt, okay? And when the time comes, if it's between Jade and Buffy…" Xander trailed off.

"You're worried I'll betray Buffy to protect Jade." Spike supplied. Harris and his protective instincts. Couldn't ever get Buffy as a lover, so he'd settled as the big brother instead. Or brother-in-law ish. Either way, he'd always stick up for Buffy, lest she was really in the wrong, an' as much as it should irk him, Spike could understand that, at least. He had his one view, and he wasn't letting any others in. He knew, knew the position Buffy was in, but he took it personal. Anything involving Jade was personal to him.

"Wouldn't you?" Xander asked.

Spike was silent for a while. Bloody hell, choosing between them as lovers was a hell of a lot different than choosing who he'd save. And he couldn't answer it. "Don't rightly know," He said after a long quiet. "It won't come to that."

"I hope not," Xander said in an equally hushed voice.

"So we won't ever be pals, then, Harris?" Spike asked, amused. Trying to drive away from the seriousness of it all. He could think of it plenty on his own. Didn't need a deep heart-to-heart.

"Not a chance," Xander said vehemently, without missing a beat. Spike's lips twitched into a smirk.

"Bloody right."

"We won't ever be roommates again, either, you can bet on that."

"No sodding way," Spike agreed.

* * *

"Spike, we should head back," Angel said, not for the first time since they'd let Lyth slip through their fingers. Sun was up and Xander was driving, which meant he was stuffed back into the back with the Poof again. Spike toyed with the half-empty jar in his hands. Not too much left now.

"Sod off," Spike replied, his classic retort. He was running out of excuses, but he could see from the seriousness in Angel's expression that it wasn't going to be that easy this time.

"Stop the car," Angel ordered. Xander hesitated, then complied, pulling them off into the side. Angered, Spike rose up from his seat to be crushed back down with Angel's heavy hand, pinning him back down. "We're going to have to do this a little differently now, Spike." Angel said, almost apologetic, but Spike wasn't seeing it, growling in response.

"You gits can head back then. Stick out a thumb and 'hope you don't fry."

"Come on, Spike." Xander turned around and looked at him. "You owe us a bit more than that."

"I don't owe you anything!" Spike protested, furious. "I don't owe you a bloody thing 'til this over."

"It _is_ over." Angel's voice was deadly calm. "We've made it to Kansas City. She wasn't there. We're out of the locations that Clarity gave us."

"So we go get more," Spike said stubbornly. At the clenching of Angel's jaw, he reconsidered. " _I_ get more. You sods head back, then, if you're all done."

"It'll be over a day's drive to get back to San Francisco. We should start back now," Angel said. "Together. You going out on your own will only get you killed."

"An' you care about that, do you?"

"Spike," Xander jumped in, all too ready to double team. "We can't let you out of our sight, do you see that? Jade's out there, a Slaypire, without a soul. She'll kill anything she can get her hands on."

"You watch your mouth," Spike warned, in a growl.

"She has no soul. She's not predictable. Except for you. You heard what Lyth said. Even without a soul, you might have a chance to talk her down. But if you're not there, then Buffy's going to do what she has to do."

"Xander's right," Angel murmured. "There's no telling how she's reacted until we see her, but there is a connection with you. That'll affect her, one way or another."

Spike pushed up against the hand holding him, but Angel held firm, his patience giving way to irritation.

"Think, Spike!" Angel growled. "I know this part better than you."

"Don't you bloody dare compare her to you," Spike snarled. "She's not going all Jade-us."

"You don't know that," The hulking vampire answered. "We need to get back. In case something happens. We should be there, with the others."

"'M fine on my bloody own!" Spike snapped back.

"Are you? Then why let us come along? You need help, Spike. Jade's too much to handle on your own."

He bared his human teeth, angry, but it didn't hold nearly as much intimidation as if he vamped out. He knew it wouldn't help him break free from Angel, who could vamp out in turn just as easily.

"We'll go back. Regroup." Xander said.

"If I don't…" Spike licked his bottom lip, letting his shoulders slam back into the cushion as he stopped pushing against Angel's arm. "If I don't bring 'er soul back, then what if I can't stop 'em from killing her?" His anger had turned into desperation, making him sound the ponce, but he couldn't help himself.

"We'll find a way, Spike." Xander promised. "Trust Buffy."

Spike growled again at that, but had no solid reply. He knew they were right. Running out here all over the bloody country wasn't helping him none. And Jade, she wouldn't be looking for Lyth, she'd be looking for him. Running after her soul would get him further away from where she was likely to look. After she healed, he knew where she'd go first. The Slayer base in San Francisco. She'd look there first. And they'd be ready. Least they would try to be. And if Spike let the others… Buffy, still, get hurt while he was over here… and if he let Jade slip through his fingers while he was on a sodding wild goose chase…

But he couldn't let Lyth get away with the soul. Maybe all he needed was a few more chances. If he turned back now, he'd never bloody know. Never be able to fix it all. Jade'd be condemned to the rest of her unlife without a soul… and if she ever did get it back, the memories would be so overwhelming…

Bloody hell. He massaged his forehead with his hand. He didn't know what to do, what to choose. Either way, he felt he was turning his back on her. Choosing between the chance of the souled version, or what she was without it. He'd been the one to tell her not to be so afraid of it. That it wasn't a two sides of the coin deal. That it didn't mean she'd been mad, world-ending evil. But his only other experience with a Slaypire had left him with the impression of crazy. Vampire and Slayer mixed together, that was one hell of a bloody unstable mixture.

 _Love her as she is,_ the Mok'Tagar bitch had said with her captive soul. _Or kill her_. He couldn't kill her. He didn't know all he felt for her, but there was love. Loyalty, and sodding trust, and he didn't have the heart to end that. Couldn't watch her ashes coat him, bloody hell. He'd lost so much. He'd hurt so much, and took a bloody wallop in return, and Jade couldn't be just one of the things he couldn't hold on to.

And he couldn't abandon her. Soul or no soul.

"Choose, Spike." Angel urged. "Stop running around here with no idea of where you're going. Go back. Don't run from her." For the illusion of choice, the hulking vampire lifted his arm, leaving Spike free. Though he knew it wasn't that simple, it was all laid out all easy-like for him.

He wasn't running from her. But he was. He was afraid, sodding terrified of what he'd caused.

"Alright." Spike relented. Felt like a punch to his chest, his barely healed chest. "Sodding. Bloody. Hell." He muttered under his breath. "We'll leave the bloody bitch for now. But I haven't given up," he promised, raising his blazing blue eyes to Angel's contemplative ones.

"It's the right thing to do, Spike." Angel said, nodding to Xander, who started the car back up. Angel searched through his jacket, dialing a few buttons and holding it to his ear.

"Buffy," Angel spoke. Spike felt that familiar twinge of jealousy. Hadn't left him yet, even though it stirred with a bare proportion of what it used to. Spike could hear Buffy's answering words but barely listened to them, disheartened by the U-turn Xander was pulling. Heading back the way they came. Disappointment curled like a stone in his stomach, making him feel sick. Felt like he'd given up.

He wasn't getting her soul back now. Wouldn't be the sodding champion coming back in time with the sparkling stone in his fingers. No. He had no sodding ace in his sleeve. Nothing to keep Jade from slaughtering them all or getting slaughtered herself.

"We're heading back now. About a day and some away."

"It might not be the best of ideas," Buffy answered, startling both Spike and Angel.

"What?" Angel demanded. "You asked me to—"

"I know," Buffy said. It sounded like she was taking a shaky breath. "It's just. We've been tracking her. They weren't sure, but they are now. She's been heading to San Francisco. She _is_ heading to San Francisco. There might not be… You might not make it in time. She'll get here first."


	7. Chapter 7

**7**

If he thought it had been a rushed drive before, it was nothing compared to the way they sped back to San Francisco. Nothing else could help them back any quicker; no magic, and Angel said his bloody jet had taken a bad turn after they'd flown part of it into another dimension—the sod. They drove as fast as they bloody could, but the seconds ticked away so fast, slipping through Spike's fingers. Every minute they were away meant something calamitous could happen. He never should have gone after Lyth for so long. He thought he had more time. Thought he could be the sodding hero. Now he had no soul to bring back, and he might not even get back in time.

They'd had police on their tail at one point. Spike had told Angel to floor it, leave the gits in their dust, but Angel had stopped, citing that it was better _not_ to have the police on their tail. Spike had growled in frustration. Let them follow. But Angel had pulled over, and Spike fidgeted so badly, unable to keep still, hating each second of the delay. And they couldn't even go the old route. Flashing his vamp face should have left the officer trembling in his skivvies, but with every single ordinary bloke who watched the news, it wasn't so frightening any more. Even more of a blow to his demonic ego, the officer had stared back, unimpressed. Angel'd pulled out his charm—not that Spike thought he had any, but the hulk had tried—and they'd driven away with a ticket and no more delays. After that, they had to slow their speed a bit, and Spike could have shouted out in frustration. He did, more than once. Xander was equally on edge, although the git was silent about it. Least he didn't have to worry 'bout little Bit being anywhere near the crossfire. It was the big sis and the others that got his-self grumbling and worrying. Angel had his own folks to worry 'bout, but he was the calmest of the bunch. Right, 'cause he had a crew that watched his back. That had loyalty to Peaches and Peaches alone. Angel had his groupies, Buffy had hers.

The only one that Spike could have called his own, who was loyal to him and him first, well… he didn't even know if she'd still be there by the time he got there. Bloody hell. He'd thought he'd had more time.

Some champion, coming back empty handed and empty bloody hearted.

"Buffy's not answering her cell anymore," Xander informed them when they were still hours out. Glum silence descended, if it hadn't already. Being stuck in the bloody tiniest metal box on wheels didn't help matters either. The radio had been long forgotten, so there was nothing but quiet, nothing but Harris' buggering loud breathing and his erratic heartbeat, and the thumping of the wheels.

When they reached the city, there was an eerie calm. Too bloody quiet, too normal. Cars were going 'bout their way, and Xander had to slow to a near crawl, Spike growling with frustration he didn't bother to suppress. Yeah, not a single hair was out of place.

"Maybe nothin' happened," Spike dared to say aloud. "There's no little scurry of the frightened people-folk soiling their trousers."

"Faith'd be answering me back if that was the case," Angel replied from the front seat, clutching his own little phone box in his hand as they approached the Slayers' base.

"Yeh, like the missus is overly reliable," Spike couldn't help but mutter. Angel's lips flattened into a disapproving scowl, Spike was spared from hearing the hulking vampire's response when the whole car suddenly jerked, spinning off from something solid, a large crunch as they veered off-course and came to a heavy stop. Spike had neglected his belt, as he often did, his head rushing forward into Xander's seat and smashing his nose.

"Bloody, buggering hell!" Spike shouted. "Harris, watch where you're going, you wanker!" He felt the blood trickle down his lip as he clutched at his noggin.

"I don't know what I hit," Xander said, sounding panicked. "I didn't see anything."

"There's reason for that," Angel said, alarm seeping into his low tone. "Look."

Spike glanced up, following the vampire's line of sight. Where everything had been normal—not quite birds singing and butterflies prancing, but close enough, there was now devastation, from the roads to the buildings in the surrounding area.

"Magical barrier," Angel explained. "Must be what's keeping everyone from seeing it."

"Holy. Cow." Xander breathed. "What the actual…"

Spike pounded his hand against the door, opening it up and crawling out while Angel and Xander stared at it all. He felt numb as he stared out at it, his mind trying to make sense of what he saw.

"The hotel… it's like it's shorter," Xander stammered, turning off the engine.

"It's sunk into the ground," Angel was the pillar of bloody information, wasn't he? But Spike could see that himself.

Was like an Earthquake had ripped through here, one so bloody specific and focused on one spot, he knew what it was. No Earthquake. No magical attack from someone else they had to worry about. Cars were overturned, the ground was cracked, uneven beneath his feet. But the only thing that bothered him more than knowing, just knowing that this was Jade, was that he couldn't see her.

"Where is everyone?" Xander asked, his voice wavering with trepidation. Angel'd gotten out of the vehicle too, and Xander followed last, shaky.

"There." Angel said suddenly. "On the far side."

Spike narrowed his eyes—sod was right, there was some movement over there. "Come on," He said, sliding over the trunk to land beside Angel. His feet had barely graced the ground and he was running again, a full, bowling sprint. He didn't pay any heed to Xander's shouting as the vampires left him behind. Spike realised belatedly that he shouldn't leave the defenseless human by himself while he couldn't see where Jade was, but he wasn't stopping now.

He was barely aware of Angel stopping to double back and escort Xander, but he couldn't stop. Couldn't, and wouldn't. He stumbled 'round the rubble, only a modicum of his normal grace, gone in the favor of haste. A fallen lamppost helped to light the darkness. Sun had only gone down a couple hours ago, 'round the same time Buffy had stopped picking up.

He ran around the corner, and there they were. Only a handful of Slayers—where were the others?

"Spike!" A familiar voice called. Gunn ran up to him, his hands wrapped around a crossbow. There was a cut on his cheek, but otherwise he was unarmed. The others were spread out, like a grid or a net, looking carefully into the rubble where the hotel had sunk down.

"Where is she? What happened here?" Spike spat the questions out, trying to look through the crowd. There was Buffy. Unharmed, besides a smear of blood across her forehead. Faith and Illyria stood near each other, and Gwen followed close behind Gunn, her lipstick smeared and her normal, confident look shattered, replaced by a skittish fear. He recognized a few of the Slayers. Kennedy was missing, but was that purple haired one one that had talked Jade's ear off after the faux spar, and was that the boy-Slayer standing there too. And miss Barbie-Bailey, whatever, at his side. They all had determined, but war-torn expressions. And there weren't many Slayers here now, not even twenty. There should have been hundreds here. His stomach clenched.

"Don't know where," Gunn panted. "She keeps disappearing when she…" He made a face, a mix between chagrin and dread.

"Give me the sodding run-down," Spike meant to order it, but it sounded more like a plea instead. "Where is everyone?"

"Evacuated," Gunn supplied. "When the coven saw she was heading here, Buffy ordered most of the Slayers to leave. She asked volunteers to stay."

"The ones who wanted to give killing a Slaypire a go?" Spike asked, disgusted, looking at who remained more closely. There were a couple of people Spike didn't recognize, weren't Slayers, crowded 'round Buffy and Giles.

Gunn gave him a look. "No. The opposite. Buffy only wanted those who were willing to capture Jade instead of kill her to stay here."

His heart clenched painfully. "Willing to capture her?" He echoed.

"Yeah." Gunn answered. "Said it was more dangerous, and most of them should get out. But some stayed."

Despite all her words, her bluster, Buffy'd made an attempt anyway, even when Spike had given her every reason not to. Thank bloody God. His knees shook with relief.

"So Jade's alright?"

"Alright?" Gwen snapped from behind Gunn. "She's been toying with us. She took that Slayer with the glasses an hour ago. Aella says she's still nearby, but they don't have enough witches left to track her well enough, she's so fast."

"Aella?" Spike gave her a blank look, deciding to ignore the chit's bitchy tone. Supposed she had a good excuse for it. They were out in the open here. The hotel was crumbling from its lowered height. Was a battlefield. Flames flickered in a few spots. Battlegrounds, it was.

"The one that Giles is holding," Gwen said dismissively. "She, that guy and two other witches teleported over to try to help. It's just her and that guy, Billy left. Jade went for them first." There was spite in her tone. Spike remembered Gwen getting along with Jade well enough when they had previously met, but fear had obviously tempered Gwen into dislike. He clenched his teeth, trying not to snap at the broad.

Instead, he glanced over to where she had mentioned the two remaining witches. He saw it now, how Giles had his arm around the female. Spike hadn't seen her before. She had defined cheekbones, and dark skin, a deep bronze. She had a bouncy, large afro that was golden and blonde colored, some of those curls squished to where she leaned against Rupert's chest, only a couple inches shorter than the Watcher, but she hunched into him, fatigued. When her eyes flickered open, Spike could see they were a green so pale they were nearly a silver. She had large glasses propped on a wide nose, and her mouth was full. She was young—sod, everyone was young compared to Spike, but not as much as most of the Slayers, or even Buffy. He doubted she had been in her thirties for very long. She looked both young and old at the same time, deep circles under her eyes from exhaustion. Rupert had his arm wrapped tightly around her to keep her upright, far too cozy to be more than just normal concern. Spike figured this was his answer as to why Rupert had been so defensive of the coven when Spike had questioned their capabilities. Had himself a little love bird now, din't he, even if she was a bit young.

Her companion didn't seem that much better. Younger, early twenties, and mussed dark brown, nearly black hair that was parted in the middle and fell equally on the side of his head. He was taller than Buffy, but by no means gigantic, instead he was skinny and lithe, and had rectangle shaped glasses on his face. He looked altogether normal, in his very early twenties. His skin was a light bronze and his lower chin was covered in a light amount of stubble. He seemed worried, but not panicked, a practiced ease about him, though Spike hadn't seen him before, he spoke to Buffy as if they knew each other. His expression was drawn as well, pale, afflicted by the same tiredness as his fellow witch.

So Spike couldn't count on much from them, then. They were obviously near their limit. Aella was holding her arm protectively to her chest, like it had been hurt.

He tore his gaze away, and back to Gwen and Gunn. They looked up in synchronization behind Spike's shoulder, and he didn't have to turn 'round to know that Angel and Xander had caught up to them. Angel halted next to Spike, while Xander kept going, over towards to Buffy and Rupert. Harris exclaimed somewhat when he neared Billy, reaching for him and patting him on the shoulder like he was an old friend. Curious, but otherwise distracted, Spike looked to his left.

"Boss," Gunn said respectfully.

"You're alright," Angel said, the relief palpable in his tone as he looked at them both, then past them, eyes lingering on Faith. The Dark Slayer had noticed him too, but didn't budge from where she stood, tearing her gaze away and keeping it trained back on the darkness, alert.

"Some of us are," Gwen said, an irate edge to her tone. "She collapsed the building, Angel. We were keeping an eye on the outside and then there was a rumbling from below." She blinked hard. "We had defenses set up and everything. Crosses, everywhere. But then the floor felt like it was collapsing, so we had to go out here."

"She was waiting," Gunn supplied, his face stone, serious. "The witches were putting up the glamour veil so no-one'd bother us, and she took two of them out. Then she took one of the Slayers. Drained her, I'd guess. We haven't found any of their bodies."

"No," Spike said. "She wouldn't." He didn't mean to say anything, but it tumbled out, fierce. Gwen's eyes met him, equally blazing.

"It happened, Spike. We've been here the whole time."

"Gwen," Gunn admonished her gently, then turned his dark brown eyes on Spike. "Buffy doesn't want to retreat, not until Jade's taken out one way or another, and Jade hasn't left either." He skewed up his mouth. "She's been looking for you."

"She's hurt now," Gwen was saying to Angel. "They managed to hit her with a few holy-water drenched crossbow bolts."

Spike let out a growl. Gwen had sounded relieved, not quite triumphant, but near enough that it didn't settle well with him. 'Course it wouldn't. He was still thinking of Jade, his Jade. He still couldn't connect it, believe that she'd done this. She'd never.

But she had.

"How many has she killed?" Spike asked. He couldn't help it. Shouldn't ask. Was anyway, even as the thought chilled his veins.

"I don't know, man," Gunn hesitated, in an effort to spare his feelings.

"Three when the building collapsed," Gwen said. "The two witches. And five of the Slayers so far." She wasn't so considerate of his feelings, but it was a relief. He couldn't deal with sympathy. Didn't bloody know how to, and he damn well didn't deserve it, not now.

"I don't think she wants us to leave," Gunn supplied, looking to Angel. "That's when she attacks the most, if we retreat too far away from the hotel. We're cut off."

"It'll change now," Angel assured him. "We'll get everyone out, Gunn."

Gunn's lips twitched into a light smile, dipping his head. "Of course, Boss," Gunn said, as if he had little doubt.

"Yeh. Not a worry, Charlie boy." Spike added, looking to the sky. "Things've changed now."

He was trying to find her. The over turned cars and disturbed piles of rubble didn't help. The words spoken between Gunn and Angel now held no interest for him. Then there was Buffy, standing further down, and her eyes met his. He should talk to her. He knew that.

"Kennedy took Willow and the rest of the Slayers to make sure they'd get out safe. I figured you'd want us to stay with Buffy's group. We're thinking Gwen might be able to incapacitate her, but I haven't let her get that close." Gunn shot an apologetic look at the hulking vampire.

"I understand," Angel replied. "It's too dangerous, anyway. We don't know how much electricity she'd be able to withstand." He glanced at the curly haired woman. "I know I was able to fight through it, for a time."

"Well, then I'd just amp it up," Gwen said, tipping her nose up as if affronted. "But not that I want to be any closer to that." Gwen added as a mutter.

He'd nearly tuned out the inane chatter. Buffy was still looking at him. Deserved an apology. She'd made an effort, at least. But he knew that Xander was likely telling her now that they'd be unsuccessful. No soul, and he didn't want to get in that argument with her again, trying to convince her that Jade could be spared. She'd be less willing to hear him now, but even so, his foot moved.

But he didn't get very far. There was a creaking of metal, a slight whoosh as something heavy flew through the air. Angel shouted out a warning, and the Slayers scattered as a truck flew through the air and landed on the ground, its nose wrinkling up like paper. It stayed upright, nose in the ground and back in the air. Then there was another shadow, this one lighter, quicker. It followed the path of the car, landing gently on the back fender.

Jade. There she was, graceful and limber, an elk with an easy bound. She stood above them all, perched on the truck as the Slayers hastily stepped back, shoulder to shoulder, crossbows aimed. But she wasn't looking at any of 'em, she was looking at Spike. And he couldn't look away.

Blood and dirt painted the left side of her face. He could see some smeared on her already normally red, full lips. She was wearing different clothes than the last time he'd seen her. Black tights that cut off half-way to her calf, and a red dress. Never seen her wear a dress before, not ever. Its style was something not her, and he'd wondered if she'd raided it from the Mok'Tagar demon. Seemed more her fashion, tight to the waist, and short, couple inches above the knee. Long sleeves, although they were torn. At her right shoulder, the fabric was ripped, a hole there. That was likely where she'd been shot by the arrow. Blood trickled down her front from the wound, and a ghastly burn mark surrounded the flesh. He felt his heart contract painfully. That must have stung. More for her than him. Despite all her strengths, she was just as weak to crosses and holy water as any fledgling would be. That was her weakness. The holy water would be burning her from the inside, as far as the shaft of the arrow had spread. With her healing—and likely the Slayer blood she now had in her veins—he knew she'd be okay. She'd recuperate.

If they bloody made it out of this.

Her forehead was ridged, showing the vamp-marks that she hated so badly, and her golden eyes gleamed in the midnight. Her hair was loose and messy, a few locks dried in dark reddish clumps that were likely from blood. The wide cut of her dress showed off her prominent clavicles, and the empty space between them where her soul would hang. Her arms were lightly perched at her hips. Her golden eyes had begun to survey her uneasy opponents, the array of crossbows which had been cocked and aimed at the ready, but no-one had fired yet.

Then she looked at him, and she didn't glance away. He felt time slow, felt like the ground had suddenly expanded beneath his feet, and everyone who had been close was now miles away. There was just him, looking up, and her, staring back down at him, the chilled wind lifting her locks up aimlessly, dancing around her face, but her eyes he could see clearly, never blinking. He waited. Waited to see what would cross her face. Loathing, adoration or indifference.

"Spike," Jade said.

There was relief first. A smile split her face, twisting her lips upwards. Her smile was always so gentle, so warm, but now it was marred by her fangs jutting into view, making her look menacing rather than cordial. She teetered slightly on the truck, as if to lean towards him, but the ruffling of the crossbows reminded her, as they did Spike, that they weren't alone. But he wasn't so frozen, taking a step towards her.

"Jade," He answered her back, but he couldn't bring himself to smile. Couldn't even force it. He heard the beating of more than a dozen hearts, how loud and quickly they hammered, frightened, determined Slayers with their fingers on the trigger. But she'd been toying with them, Gwen had said. Spike knew she could handle herself, unless she was distracted by someone she cared about. Spike wondered if he was that weakness again, as he had been when she had her soul. He found the idea bothered him more than he could bear, the thought that he was the trap laid for her.

"I looked for you," Jade continued. The smile was still on her face, her eyes focused back on him. Then it faltered, a tad. "You didn't come back." Her tone was accusatory and uncertain. Her eyes narrowed a bit as she tilted her head, surveying him.

God, he hadn't even thought to return back to the Mok'Tagar's apartment where he had left Jade. Thought hadn't even crossed his mind that she would be there, waiting. As soon as he'd learned her soul was gone, all he'd wanted to do was get it back. He hadn't even looked for her. Just abandoned her. He knew she was thinking the same thing as the smile disappeared completely, lips tightening.

"'M Sorry. I didn't think you'd be—" The words tumbled from his lips. Would she forgive him? He didn't even know what to think of her right now. She seemed almost normal, but she wasn't. Her eyes were flat, not shining with all the color of the sky. They just looked down at him, contemplative, calculating, but not at all reserved. Her face was all the emotions at once, anger, warmth, disappointment. Then she settled on forgiving.

"I didn't really expect you to," Jade admitted. She moved then, and it seemed most of the Slayers held their breath, but she merely sat, her legs swinging off the edge of the upright truck, swaying in tandem with the unsteady vehicle.

"Jade," it was Buffy now, breaking them from his reverie. They weren't alone, not even close. Jade's expression darkened with the intrusion. Buffy held the crossbow up, her arm steady and firm, pointed straight at Jade's heart. Spike wondered if Buffy'd been the one to shoot Jade in the shoulder. He tried not to feel anger at the thought. Had to remember that the blood on Jade's lips were fresh. She'd been killing, killing the Slayers who'd volunteered to stay behind. "Spike's here, now. You don't have to keep—"

"Killing?" Jade asked lightly. "We were playing a fun game, here." She said it to Spike, now, her eyes lingering on the lines of his face. "They thought I was keeping them here, I decided they were trying to keep me here. Either way, it was a standstill. We were just waiting for you."

"'M here, now." Maybe Lyth was right. Not that he wanted to justify a single word out of that bitch's mouth, accept anything she said as the truth, but maybe there was something he could do. She had no soul, but she was still Jade. Maybe that would be enough. Maybe he could talk her down. Please, bloody _please_ , let that be an option. He knew that was what Buffy was hoping for with a single shared look at the blonde. Otherwise, Buffy would order her Slayers to attack, for real this time, if Spike couldn't hold up his end. "Come here." He held up one hand, palm up. He'd said this to her before, and she always had. Now, he could see those golden eyes, half-lidded. Thinking. Then she moved. She slid down to the ground with ease, the red of her dress flapping half-way up to her thighs before they fell back down again as she landed. Her arms hadn't moved, no longer on her hips, they were straight and graceful.

Too straight, he realised. There was a delicacy to the way she moved her arms or didn't. It had been a couple days since he'd last seen her, and even human—and now Slayer blood—could only do so much. Her arms weren't fully healed yet. Not even she could heal that fast. They moved and bent, but they weren't at full strength yet. That was her weakness, likely the reason she'd been hit by one arrow already—and he could see her hands now. Burnt flesh spread over her palms, likely from touching something that burned her. She still had her legs, even stronger than they would be normally, with the Slayer blood in her system, but she wasn't at a hundred percent. She'd come too soon, likely because of him. She'd been looking for him. Come here to draw him out, hadn't she?

Jade took another step towards him, and he took one in kind. At least he would have, had not strong arms clamped down on his arm, halting his movement. He looked back to see one of the Slayers had reached out to stop him, and then felt the same pressure on the other side of him as another Slayer had stepped up to anchor his other side. She was young, her expression determined and rosy lips set in a firm line. He didn't know her name, but she looked to Buffy for confirmation. Buffy was running the show, then.

Jade had stilled too. She glanced about at the crossbows leveled at her heart, but her frustration was palpable as she looked at Spike, fury coloring her face with them holding him captive.

"Let him go," Jade's voice was biting, demanding as she turned a hateful gaze on Buffy.

"No," The Blonde Slayer refused, as costumacious as ever, glaring obstinately back at the Slaypire without a soul. "We're not giving him up to you. Not after what you've done."

Jade's lips curved into a mirthless smile. "Of course you won't. Even if I hadn't done anything." She was bitter. But not surprised.

"You can come quietly," Buffy was saying in her General-Buffy tone. Unrelenting, unblinking. "We'll let you live. And then you can talk to Spike."

Jade laughed, a sound that was usually heartening chilled him to the core. "Are you sure you're willing to give up your pet, even to talk? And how exactly do you want me to come quietly? Bind me in chains? Let me kill those witches, and I'll think about it."

Rupert tightened his grip around the woman pressed into his arms, looking back coldly at Jade, as deadly as Spike had seen him. The man, Billy, stepped closer to Buffy, consciously or not, a certain trust in his gaze as he looked at Buffy. Whoever he was, he trusted Buffy to defend him. But there was no jealousy floundering in Spike, just curiousity. And a fear that chilled him with the determined, dogged looks that the Slayers shot at Jade, running lower and lower on mercy.

Jade laughed again. "It was a joke. I know you wouldn't go for that. But what else? Send them way? You'd just bring them back. Or you'd cover me with holy-water soaked chains, throw me in a cell with crosses, I mean… just about anything!" Her voice raised in volume, exclaiming. "And maybe you'd decide it'd just be easier to stake me. Or not let me see Spike at all." She looked at him, gaze lingering. There was longing there, and then just steel as she came to her decision. "Why would I go for that? Would you?"

This was all going wrong. "Jade," He licked his lips. He had to say something. Had to convince her. "Don't do this, luv. Don't need you hurt, yeah?"

Her lips turned up into a small smile, as if touched. Then her brow furrowed further, and the empathy turned to determination. "Then I won't be."

Like a blur, she moved. The Slayers were fast. Bolts shot out into the air, but she was faster. She pushed herself up into the air, and flipped, a graceful dive as she slipped behind the truck she had sunk into the ground. She was only out of view for a half-second when Spike heard the screeching of metal.

"Ger'off," He ripped his arms from the Slayers holding him, "An' move!" His warning came almost too late as the truck was shot towards them. One of the Slayers was too slow, standing too far in front of Spike, and the truck piled into her, a mess of blood and hair and flesh as she was crushed between the truck and the ground, instantly dead. The truck teetered again, back end up in the air as it flipped, falling on its top, but the rest of them had scattered. Spike could see Angel out of the corner of his eye. He had grabbed Gwen and pulled her to safety, and Gunn had escaped it too, fitting another bolt into the crossbow as he fired again at the revealed Jade. Spike felt his heart constrict, but Jade flitted away, unharmed, sinking back out of sight again.

It was hardly a reprieve. More rubble came flying through the air, once more sending everyone in a tizzy to avoid it. A piece of pavement struck one of the Slayers, leaving her screaming as she fell to the ground, the debris sinking into a newly made divot in the Slayer's shoulder and torso.

"Make a circle, people," Faith was shouting, pulling and pushing the Slayers as their formation threatened to crumble. "Eyes out and listen. Wounded in the middle. Come on, people, move it or lose it." The Dark Slayer was a blur. Her perfunctory, blunt response wasn't the normal direction the Slayers were used to, but they answered her with obedience, shuffling carefully into shape. Spike found himself next to Angel who still hovered protectively beside Gunn. The witches were in the middle, the recently and already wounded already being shuffled in.

"Spike," Angel looked at him, his somber, near ebony colored eyes boring into him. "We need some way to end this quickly."

Spike growled at him in response.

"With no-one else getting hurt." Angel added, in what he likely thought was reason.

"What d'ya want me do, run out there with my arms open?" Not that he hadn't thought about it. In fact, of the ways to end this quickly and as bloodlessly as possible, it might be one of the only options. Separate himself from the Slayers. Jade wouldn't hurt him. Least he was pretty sure about that. He still wasn't sure for her motivations, if it was anger or desire that made her want to get to him, but he was willing enough to take that risk. Still. He didn't know what would happen to the others if he left. Jade's firing of projectiles seemed random, but he knew better than that. She had been careful to avoid him. If he was gone, she might not exercise that same caution. And there was no holding back, none of Jade's honor remaining. If she was attacked, then she'd attack right back, no holds barred. There was no mercy there.

"I know plans aren't your strengths," the hulking vampire shot back. "But do you have one anyway? Something that could help?"

Spike hesitated.

"Come on, Spike. I put my own people at risk here. For you and Jade. So give us something." Angel's gaze was unfaltering, resolute. And the sod had a point, to Spike's bloody chagrin.

"Her arms," He hissed between clenched teeth. Hating himself for giving up one of her weaknesses. "They're not healed yet. Her legs are stronger than a bloody horse's but her arms aren't so quick, aren't as strong. Might be able to overwhelm her in a close fight." He was a traitor. Knew that. But he knew more, of the two sides warring against each other, which winner would be more likely to provide mercy. If there was even a hope of a civilized ending, it wasn't with his Slaypire being triumphant. He knew that.

But he still felt like he'd sodding betrayed her anyway.

"Close combat," Angel was saying to Gunn, and the man nodded, shifting his crossbow to his back in favor of a stake, passing the information down the circle. Then they waited, waited for Jade to show herself again. Another crunch. Bloody hell, the bird had found another vehicle to throw at them. As Spike suspected, her aim was far off from where he was standing, but the Slayers had enough time to move. And they saw her then, stepping back up onto the precipice of a pile of rubble. More dust stained her red dress, and she stood there like some sort of dark angel, although the full-display of her vampire features tempered that vision a little. But she was standing there. And Angel moved first, flying through the air. Spike had to stay close, otherwise Jade would ignore Angel and center on the wounded and weak. The circle came with them, then tightened as Slayers followed to join the fight. Faith was there, and Buffy. Jade watched them come with amusement, and Spike's heart clenched when she threw herself willingly into the fray.

 _No_ , he wanted to tell her. _Keep yourself back, an' safe. Don't endanger yourself while you're weak._ Throwing shrapnel to divide and injure them was her best bet. But Spike had rushed with them, so she went to meet him. Angel was the forefront, and she slowed as the hulking vampire met her. He dodged her first kick, but she spun around again, this time making contact, and he flew backwards, caught by Illyria. Not on purpose, Spike thought, but that's where the blue woman had been standing, and she was pinioned to the ground before Angel could shuffle back up to his feet.

Faith and Buffy were next. As different as the women were, they fought in perfect synchronization. Faith used a knife, and Buffy a stake, but their kicks and spins were artistic. And then they were desperate, as Jade launched a kick at Buffy that would have broken something, had Faith not sidestepped and pushed the blonde instead. The glancing blow hit Faith instead, catching her on the shoulder. It wasn't a direct blow, otherwise something would have been shattered, but there was an audible crack as Faith hit the ground, and she clutched her arm in agony.

"Faith!" Buffy called out in worry. Jade's eyes zoned in on the blonde, a look of undisguised hatred. Whatever feelings Jade had had for Buffy while her soul was intact had evolved beyond bitterness or dislike. Spike was sure that Jade'd try to kill the blonde if she had a chance. Or maim her. Or bloody both. He felt guilty for the relief he felt as the rest of the Slayers caught up, tearing Jade's concentration away from Buffy as the blonde knelt next to the fallen Slayer. Jade had to back up. As Spike had suspected, her arms were slow. She didn't rely on them as heavily to defend herself as she did her kicks. But her kicks were no bloody thing to underestimate. Spike'd taken the force of them before. Like a whole tree falling on him, and that was when she'd held back. She didn't have that same reserve now. Instead, she was enjoying it. She laughed when one landed a punch on her, and she was delighted with each kick that met their target. One Slayer fell back, hitting the ground with a heavy thud, a sickening sound as her head rolled back, neck at an odd angle. Dead. Another one. The list of casualties wasn't getting any bloody shorter. And he couldn't afford for those remaining to be added to it. Jade. Buffy. Hell, even the dusting of Angel'd rock him a little. As much as he often despised the git, he had his own purpose in it all. Each one of their deaths would be a heavy loss.

"I'm okay," Faith was saying to Buffy. "Five by five, okay? She just broke my arm. Don't worry about me, just finish the job, okay B?" She accepted the blonde's hand as she rose to her feet, heading back to the others. The wounded group was getting larger, while those that could fight were getting picked off. Bloody hell, he couldn't stand around. Had to sodding stop this.

"Jade!" He called out. Saw her head whip toward him. Realised his mistake as one of the Slayers, the boy Slayer took his chance and sunk his stake into her. If his heart still beat, it would have stopped, but Jade had jerked back in the last second. She roared as the stake ripped into her flesh, sizzling from where the holy-water dipped stake touched her skin, but it hit her lower back, not her heart. She tried to strike out at the boy, but another Slayer took the hit instead, her knee snapping backwards under the powerful kick. It was enough for Jade, she gathered her strength and flipped out of the crowd. Fury and pain clouded her gaze as she ungracefully pulled the stake out of her back. Still in mid-air, she had to twist to avoid a crossbow bolt that was close to her, too close. She growled at the direction it had come from. Smoke rose up from her hand where she held the bloodied, tainted stake. She dropped it, then, hissing at the pain in her palm. Not just dropped it, she flung it. It missed the Slayers by a wide margin, not a precise aim by any means, she'd been trying to get rid of it.

Or so he'd thought. But no, he hadn't seen where the crossbow bolt had come from, hadn't realised that that was her mark, a simple eye for an attempted eye exchange. Jade landed on her feet, up on another pile of rubble, as the Slayers rushed her. And Angel was there, or he would have been, if he hadn't been stilled by a heartrending scream. Spike was frozen too, as he recognized that scream.

"CHARLES!" Gwen screamed. Spike turned to look. God, no. There was Gunn, standing for only a second longer before he collapsed to his knees. He couldn't make a sound, gurgling over the blood that shot from his lips, the stake embedded in his throat. He'd been standing with the others, been reloading his crossbow when the stake had been flung back at him. By Jade. No, bloody no, not Charlie Boy. One of the few that Spike could call a friend, that he didn't have some sort of rivalry with. Gwen reached his side, but Gunn's eyes were rolling back in his head. Spike didn't need to be that close to know that his heart was slowing. Angel was there, a flurry of black as he knelt next to his friend.

"How could you!" Gwen shrieked, holding her lover in her arms. "Come on, Gunn." With trembling fingers, she tried to pull off her gloves. Spike saw Angel reach out, try to stop her, try to reason with her, but the broad'd just lost her lover, tears running down her cheeks, and Spike felt hollow.

"That's why you shouldn't bring humans to fight a Slaypire," Jade said calmly. She kicked up a boulder to deter the Slayers from reaching her, and they tightened into formation again, trying to rush at her, but Jade flew easily out of reach. "We didn't bring any to fight Mandy, remember?" So damn matter-of-fact, so casual about it all.

"'Nuf of this!" Spike growled, and she heard him, turning her eyes from Gwen hugging Gunn's still body to look at him. "S time to end this." Had to keep her attention on him, at least. Had to stop this. He couldn't afford to lose anything else. He'd broken off from the crowd now, which Buffy noticed at the same time as Jade did. Jade's golden eyes centered on him like a hunter focused on her prey.

"Spike!" Buffy warned.

"Yeah. I want what I came for. No more playing." Jade jumped again. It wasn't a high, boundless leap, but a shorter dash, that brought her right in front of him. Spike could hear Buffy calling his name again, but he was locked in the mesmerizing, unrelenting golden gaze of his Slaypire. Couldn't have ran if he wanted to. "Mine now," Jade said. She reached out for him. Grabbed him by the arm. He didn't resist. Let her pull him to his chest, arm like a metal bar caging him. Didn't care to notice anything else, not the Slayers, not Angel or Illyria, not Gunn's lifeless corpse or the sobbing Gwen over him. Just Jade, as she bent her knees and took off, the air whooshing around them. He didn't struggle, or fight, or beg. Or even look, as they flew. Whether she meant to kill him, torture him or some combination of the two, he didn't know.

He was in her hands, now. And he had no idea what to expect.


	8. Chapter 8

**8**

 _Three Days Ago_

Jade's cheeks were slick with tears shed when she came to. Just. Minutes. Passed. Crouched to the floor, so she straightened up. Arms swung painfully against her torso. Hurt. She'd need to fix that, then, wouldn't she?

She needed her full strength. Deserved it.

Then she felt a wave of anger so strong it nearly bowled her over. Her eyes flickered to the spot where the Mok'Tagar Demon had disappeared. "I should be thanking you," She said to the empty air. But she didn't feel gratitude. Fury gripped her instead. She'd gotten what she wanted, but not like this. She'd been made a fool of, and Lyth would pay.

"But I'll kill you for this," She promised. There, that felt better. The promise of violence. Helped clear her head.

It was disorienting. She'd been screaming for so long and was never heard, and now there was silence. So. Blissful. _My turn_. First emotion other than anger, a triumphant glee that spread through her stomach and up to her unbeating heart. She'd been patient. Waited so long, when it wasn't fair. Wasn't how it was supposed to be.

But things would be fair now.

 _Finally_ , she thought, and the joy dribbled back into anger. It'd been her turn from the beginning. No, no fucking turns. It was always hers. She'd been cheated. Her time was nearly taken from her, and how right was that? This was _hers_. Been hers since the heart stopped beating, and she'd only gotten it now?

Had to make up for lost time.

Her belly rumbled. She kicked furiously at the bag at her feet. The glass clinked, spilling. Crimson red trickled onto the wooden floor. Blood, but not what she wanted. Pig's blood? Disgusting. Her tongue curled up to her teeth, full and long in all their vampire glory. She'd always wanted to know what real blood tasted like.

Time to find out.

* * *

She hated the way her arms wouldn't move. She could force them, curling her fingers up and forcing her elbows to bend, but the pain was so overwhelming it was not worth it. How pathetically useless, although she is far from weak. She'd prove it, arms or no arms, she'd not be powerless. She never would be again. She'd kill anyone who'd try to make her feel that way.

Too many times. Too many fucking times she had all the strength in the world just to watch and do _nothing_ , to decide to do nothing. Choosing to be incapable and passive was worse than fate handing it to her, and it curdled her blood. She curled her fingers into her palm, one of the few movements her arms would allow.

Never again. No more holding back. No more debilitating honor or crippling morality. What had it gotten her? Broken arms.

And no Spike. He'd just. Left. Her. Here. Again. Why would he do that? She'd tasted his blood, she'd saved his unlife. And he'd done the same for her. That was supposed to mean something, shouldn't it?

Should have, but didn't. She pushed it from her mind. Tried to, but the thoughts of Spike kept bouncing back with an undeniable tenacity. Spike, Spike, Spike. She wanted him to see him as she was now. No more simpering. Instead of letting him slip through her fingers, she'd grab him, pin him against the wall with that dominance he coveted and take what she wanted. Finally. Take.

But not yet. Not when her arms were this way. She needed to feed.

Not just anyone, it had to be special. Something she deserved. Something she'd been denied, but no longer.

She found herself at the Orphanage. Some place familiar seemed a comfort. Seemed inviting, but as she walked up the drab stairs, she remembered that wasn't the case. No invite here, but that could be arranged.

She rang the doorbell. Waited. Impatiently, until finally she heard big awkward clumping feet coming to the door, heard them resonating long before the door opened, and there was the drooping, ugly face of the loose-skinned demon, Nigel, the Orphan's keeper. At the last second, she remembered to revert her face, inferiorly human looking as he looked at her.

"Jade," He smiled through large teeth. Red eyes were bright and welcoming.

"Hi Nigel. Thought I'd drop by while it's night. Mind if I come in?"

He frowned. Hesitating. "You—you told us to never let you in." Jade tried not to snort with irritation. The loose-skinned demon picked now to grow a brain.

"Fine, ask them to come out then." She didn't bother to hide her impatience. "Lisa, Rachel. I just want to say hello while I'm in town."

Nigel looked back at her. "S-sure. I'll see if they're still awake." He ducked back into the doorway, leaving her standing out there. She looked at the candles, set outside on the porch. She shifted away, wary. Fire was one of her weaknesses. Crosses, and holy water too. She could work on the last two, but fire was all-consuming. She felt envious of it, tearing her gaze away as the door opened, Nigel returning.

Lisa and Rachel stood there, Rachel with a wide smile on her face. Jade waited with anticipation as the young girl opened her arms and made to step over the barrier. Unexpectedly, Lisa's thin fingers stopped her, wrapping around Rachel's shoulder. Jade frowned. Discovered already?

"Jade doesn't like hugs, remember?" Lisa chided her companion gently. "Especially now."

"Oh," Rachel murmured. "Right. The vampire thing." She whispered 'vampire'. The vampire in question felt a surge of irritation. Jade and her stupid precautions.

"You can give me a hug this time," she said. "I know it's been a while since I've visited."

Rachel's face lit up with glee. Once more, she went for the doorway, and Lisa's grip tightened. "No," the Chinese girl warned her companion. "Being close to her makes it harder on her, you know that."

Rachel pouted. "But she said…"

Lisa's eyes flickered to meet Jade's. "She's just being nice. Like always."

She knew the smart thing to do. Shrug it off and walk away.

But she was so tired of holding back all the time. No. More.

Her foot lashed out before the children could blink. The doorframe snapped off, a large chunk breaking off where she couldn't follow, into the house. Rachel let out a shriek, where Lisa's lips thinned into a line, her black eyes all-too-wise as they stared back at Jade. Knowing.

"What the f—heck! Jade, you'll have to fix that. You can't go around breaking things." Nigel protested, his eyes wide in alarm.

"Not Jade anymore," Lisa said quietly, mournfully.

"It's the Shadow," Rachel whispered as she came to a slow understanding as who stood before her. Finally.

Jade smiled at her. "You don't have to make this hard. There's an easier way."

"You don't have to do this." Lisa responded, still softly. She held Rachel protectively.

"Are you coming out?"

"No," she tried to keep her voice strong, but Lisa's voice wavered.

Jade shrugged. "Fine with me."

* * *

She dropped the trees on the Orphanage. Large, overgrown oaks that were too close. Jade rested herself at the bottom trunks and kicked with all her might. Powerless no longer. Nothing would stop her. That meant invitation rights. If she couldn't in, she'd get them out.

The trees fell, and their screams split the air. Children, shrieking, crying out. When they rushed out, she was there. She avoided most of them. Perhaps this wasn't the best place to start. Most of them were tainted with some demon aspect or another. But not all. Finally, one, a little boy, no more than ten. She didn't know his name. She knocked him to the ground, his glasses snapping. He tried to scramble back up, but she stilled him with a single foot on his back.

She hissed with the uselessness of her arms, but they weren't needed. Even if he wasn't a child, he was no match for her. She pushed her knee under him, lifting him up. Fangs found his neck. They broke the skin.

Blood filled her mouth.

It was so

Delicious

Finally.

Fresh and young and rich with fear. Animal blood was nothing compared to this.

She'd never taste that swill again.

His corpse had only barely cooled before she moved on to the next. And the next. She realised then, that some hadn't come out. The trees had knocked some of the candles over, and flames had licked at the leaves, then onto the branch. The fire had begun to spread to the Orphanage, but still, she hadn't seen Lisa or Rachel.

Wouldn't be right if she just left without them now, would it?

And things deserved to be right. Deserved to be perfect.

She approached the house. How much did it need to be demolished before it stopped being a house and instead was nothing, a barely constructed mess? She kicked viciously at the wall, some of it crumbling before her. Still, there was that barrier, keeping her at bay.

But not for long enough. The flames jumped and devoured, sparks shooting into the night, and the foundation of the building fell prey to it.

And the remaining inhabitants fell prey to Jade.

She stepped over the threshold. Triumph filled her. No more failing. No more incompetence. She was strong. Strong as the mountain.

She stepped through the burning halls. She had to be careful here. Couldn't risk the flame enveloping her as it did the house.

Then she saw them. The little-bitty witches, Rachel and Lisa. Even the third boy Jade had rescued once, Gunner was standing over Nigel's unconscious body. Lisa was crouched, pouring sand or some herbs out of her hand, onto the floor. Muttering quickly and desperately. So the little witch was practicing her magic. Her weakness, magic. She chose to never attempt it over arrogance. Like she didn't need it add it to her arsenal, little Jade prejudiced against it because of her sister. Be useful now, wouldn't it?

But she didn't need it. Not now, as she saw the children trembling, one of them a blue skinned demon with red eyes, and another whose eyes looked, unseeing at the floor. Blind, half-demon hybrids. She felt a flicker of shame, then. No worthy opponents here.

Still. Job to do here. She watched their eyes grow large and their breath grow heavy and their heart beats like little hummingbirds. Fear.

"Jade?" Rachel said, eyes wide. "Shadow Lady? Please don't hurt us."

"But I want to," Jade answered, matter-of-fact. Truth, there. She wanted to.

"Why?"

She stopped. Predatory prowl at a halt. Why?

Whydidshewanttokillthesechildren

Why did she have to have a why?

For fuck's sake why rationalize every little thing. Why weigh all the little cons and pros and think and justify and why, why, why, she was so tired of it. So reserved, so careful.

So fucking done.

"Because I'm really angry. I got hurt. Bad. They just broke my arms. All over. And I didn't do anything to stop them. And then, then Lyth of all people outsmarts me. And Spike leaves me in a hallway by myself. Says he'll come back, but why would he? Pathetic. Have all these wants and I never acted on them. Do you know I've thought about tasting your blood? Every time I see you. How you'd taste, all young and magicky. Every time. And I never get to find out. But now I do."

"That's why." And Jade stepped forward.

The children scrambled, an attempt both fruitless and desperate. They split, half into a hallway that the flame had mangled. Dead end. Rachel was at the head. Watched Jade approached her. One of the children peeled off a wooden strip of the doorframe that was on fire and threw it at Jade. She sidestepped it and laughed as it petered harmlessly behind her. Lisa'd had split into the other half.

That was fine, she'd be second.

"Please," Rachel whimpered. She'd been learning magic too, but she was several years younger than Lisa. And lacking the Chinese girl's devotion. There was no danger here.

No need to go slow.

One kick, and she hurled some of the children back into each other. Into the fire, into the wall. Into each other. Crack. Crack. Crack.

Then there was Rachel. She descended upon the blonde-haired child. Cries were ignored. She pinned Rachel to the wall and snapped her neck before her fangs sunk in.

She was almost getting full, now.

But there were more.

She found them around the next hallway. There was still hallway behind them, but they weren't moving. Jade moved cautiously. Lisa was still muttering at the ground in desperate haste.

"Rachel won't be joining us. She was like a little juice box," Jade said.

Lisa's mouth set in a determined line even as her face paled considerably. Her slim fingers curled around her neck, pulling out a blue talisman. Jade scowled, pulling back.

"You promised to protect us, Nobis Magister, return to us now." Lisa flung down the last of the crumpled sand and herbs in her hand, holding tight to her talisman as it glowed. A flash a light, she was forced to close her eyes, and there stood a woman. Jade didn't recognize her. She wore black robes, and a purple scarf wrapped around her head that Jade recognized as a hijab. She was old looking, with sunken bronze skin and large eyes, and the wisps of hair that did seep through her head covering were a silver gray.

"Madame Syeira!" Lisa cried out in a grateful sob. "The summoning worked. Please, save us."

Madame Syeira. Jade's lip curled. Yet another fucking stupid… she'd been the one to ask Lyth to convince the town's witch to pay a visit to the witch-wannabes at the orphanage to teach them magic. Apparently, she had, and now the little children had their magic teacher to come save them. All because _she_ had orchestrated it. So. Stupid. She stepped forward.

She wouldn't turn tail and run.

She wasn't a coward.

"Back, demon." The witch flung up her hand and Jade was propelled backwards. Crashed through a wall and then another. She roared as the cinders touched her skin, as the flames threatened to dance around her, the roof unstable, everything unstable, threatening to drop the fire on her. She felt it singe her flesh, and she pushed through another wall to free herself, jarring her arms painfully as she found herself out of the mouth of the flames. She looked around for the others.

That magical bitch could have killed her. Some of Jade's clothes were smoking, but not on fire.

She plunged forward. She could smell them. She was full, but their blood would be sweet anyway.

She found them in time to see them teleport away, Madame Syeira finishing her spell, the old crone looking back at her as she whisked them all away.

Right out of her palm.

She felt cheated as she stepped out of the house. It collapsed behind her as she aimed one more kick at it. Falling like a deck of cards. That was better. Cinder and flames poured out into the blackest night. There were bodies everywhere. Not everyone had escaped. Just those eight.

But still her anger wasn't spent.

So she went hunting.

* * *

Lorne's bar went up in flame. The liquor in it helped. But no Lorne. Jade sniffed around but the green-skinned demon was more elusive than she thought. Still, she got a few of his regulars as they confronted her, indignant at first and then terrified as she slew them. Not quickly. She could savor it. Still, she wasn't quick as she needed to be. Large talons raked her lower back. Acid like spit burned her cheek.

She moved onto Eddie's house next. Maybe she wouldn't have destroyed it if he had answered the door. But there was no-one home, so she levelled it instead. Shattered pieces everywhere, like a giant had sat on it. But even her legs were aching, and they were the strongest part of her.

Where to next? She could go anywhere.

* * *

She returned to the apartment. Walked down the hallway.

Spike had left her here.

"I'll see you soon," She snarled aloud. How could he just leave her again? And why did she care?

Because he was supposed to be hers. She'd earned him, fucking earned him by now, and he was everywhere, tearing through her head. The Slayer of Slayers. The best fighter she'd ever seen. He would have had fun tonight. She'd slaughtered demons, danced for hours.

But no, he'd have wanted a reason for it. Didn't slaughter willy-nilly anymore.

He would have been disappointed, and that hurt. He wasn't whole, wasn't a right demon with his soul intact. Didn't enjoy things the way he used to. The way she did now. But she would fix that. Could fix that. He could ignore that soul. Remember what it was to be a demon. And he'd see her in a new light now. She'd be what he wanted.

She had to be.

Jade broke into Lyth's place. She didn't smash it, like the other places. Lyth would never return here. She knew that. Demon was too smart.

Smarter than her, apparently.

She raided the closet. Raided the alcohol, and then spit it out. It was no substitute for blood, and that's all she wanted right now. She'd been denied it for too long.

And she wanted Slayer blood. Wanted to know what it tasted like. Her arms were feeling better. It would take such a pathetically long time to heal her arms with that vegan diet as opposed to real feeding. Real human blood. And Slayer blood, that'd help even more. She'd get some.

She found a dress the color of blood. Struggled to pull it over herself. It was easier now, and the pain, well, she could handle it, if only barely. Grit her teeth against the agony, and in the slowest of goings, she pulled the dress on. Tight to her waist, a low neck that showed off her slim shoulders. She hated dresses, before. But secretly she thought she couldn't pull them off. She didn't care now. Stepped into boots. Looked deeper into the closet and found long, black man's clothing. A duster in leather. With a sniff, she could tell it wasn't Spike's but it looked similar. Lyth had planned for a long time. Knew what sort of things the platinum blonde vampire wore from their old poker games. And she'd kept the clothes in her closet and waited.

Waited for Jade to fall into her trap. Jade snarled. Yes. She had needed to get rid of this soul. But she hated being tricked.

That must have been why Spike left her. Stupidity.

She pulled out the jacket with her teeth. Looked out to the window. Sun was up.

No more adventures for today. She needed to find a place to sleep. Picked Lyth's bed. If Spike came back, she didn't want to be far. Had to be easily found.

She wrapped the duster around her and slept.

* * *

Her next stop was Los Angeles. She had taken a car. Her fingers could curl around the wheel, and she lifted up a knee to help her turn sharper corners.

She was disappointed, but not surprised when the Slayer house was empty. She snarled in frustration, and then annoyance. She'd just wanted a taste. Some Slayer blood so she didn't have to take so long to heal.

Because she had to find Spike.

If he wasn't coming back then she had to find him.

Had to, had to.

She wished she hadn't destroyed her phone. She'd kicked it to pieces after it had rung. She didn't care who was on the other end, didn't wish to speak to them. Didn't want to give herself up before she carried out her plans. Not that she had any plans, yet. Just one goal: Spike.

She wished now that she hadn't been so hasty. It could have been Spike on the other end, but she had doubted it. And she could have used it to call Lily. Lure her back. She could have, but now she couldn't.

She spent most of the night looking around. Trying to find a trace of the Slayers, and drinking off the inhabitants of Los Angeles instead. The vampire lover's club wasn't a concern of hers. Vampires were meant to be feared and they were predators and she would not be repressed again. She was free and she would do anything she wanted.

After being denied it for so long.

She returned to Haven, in the end of the night. Before the sun rose. Just in case Spike was there. He wasn't. This time, Lyth's apartment reflected Jade's frustration, her pain. Why hadn't he come back yet? Would he ever? He should have returned this day. But he hadn't.

She slept in Lyth's bed again, ignoring the glass and spilled liquids and wreck around her, that crunched under her feet before she made it to the mattress. The leather of the duster around her was a comfort. But it wasn't… didn't smell like him. But it was her cocoon, her comfort.

Until she could find him again.

* * *

Another day. She rose up to see the sun falling.

It'd been two nights waiting. Two days? But he hadn't come back.

So she had to find him, then.

Her path to San Francisco wasn't direct. She hadn't been free, though she deserved to be. Always holding back. She went through the cities, had her pick of those who strolled in the dark. A couple who looked longingly at each other as they walk through the park. Their blood was sweet and filling and she continued on feeling rejuvenated.

The water wasn't frozen yet, but it was cold, and there was no snow on the ground, despite it being January. She remembered snow. Her winters had been snow abound before she moved to Haven, before she ran away. And she never should have ran away. Never let her sister get away with her life, let her mother escape unpunished for her aloofness, for leaving Jade in the hands of her brutal sister.

Sometimes, Jade wondered if Pen had had a soul. That was supposed to be the key, wasn't it? The little barrier that led into either black or white.

Well it wasn't so true. Jade wasn't evil, she was just free. No more inhibitions. If she wanted to do it, then she'd do it. She could, now. Nothing was stopping her. So she wanted Spike? She could go get him. Not sit around, moping. Like Jade would do.

She separated Jade into a different person. The stupid little-sister persona that'd controlled her body when she no longer had a right to. She had died, so it was the demon's turn. That was the way it always was. But she'd had to wait and it wasn't fair. Now she wanted to distance herself from the human-vampire Jade had been. Pathetic.

She deserved a vampire name. That's what vampires did when they were born again, weren't they? Spike had done it. William no more. Spike was what represented him, and it was marvelous. She needed something like that.

Then she remembered Rachel had called her a shadow, and then a shadow Lady. That was no doubt Jade's influence, trying to explain the differences between her and a true vampire. But shadows made sense, and she knew everything that Jade had ever thought, everything she had ever felt. She knew the fear that Jade had felt at the thought of losing her soul, at being released. She knew what Jade had called her in the corner of her mind. The shadow, the night. Knew Jade's perchance for old tales, for Greek myths, for Gods and Goddesses. And Jade'd been so close to being one. So. Close. All the power in her reach and Jade wouldn't grasp it. But she would.

And her name was Nyx. Shadow lady. Goddess of Night. It fit. And Jade would tremble, knowing that one of her errant thoughts had named Nyx. But it was perfect. Jade was just what she had been. The weak part. She could be Nyx, she could be free and glorious. If Spike hadn't wanted Jade, he would now want Nyx.

She was what she was meant to be, now.

* * *

She'd been driving. Hours of driving, and she was approaching San Francisco. She was still trying to figure out her plan. Waltzing up to the Slayer headquarter base was a sure way to never see Spike again. They'd try to kill her and she wouldn't get close.

And she wasn't healed yet.

She should wait. A week, maybe two. She'd be stronger. Top shape.

But far as she knew, Willow was still out in her plane, and as much as she hated to admit it, she had to fear the witch. If anyone could screw up her plans, it was Willow. She could stop her, and she wouldn't be as worried about teleporting children away. She was likely stronger than Syeira was. Stronger than them all, and at Buffy's side. Ah, the blonde bitch was so lucky. Had all these friends and adorers around her. While Jade was alone, and she only wanted. One. Thing.

And that was why she couldn't wait. She wanted Spike. Wanted to see him, wanted to taste him, wanted to hold him under her. He could want her back, she knew it. He just had to see her again. Just had be shown.

So she watched the building from afar. Really far back. She'd gotten in hours ago, just before the sun came up, and now she was waiting. Long, long hours. She hated the sun. Sun, magic. She hated anything that might tell her she was anything but unstoppable.

And she was frustrated. How was she just supposed to fight them during the night? They could just run away during the day, taking Spike with them. And what if Spike wasn't there?

A wave of devastation went through her, the thought was so disappointing. No, no, he had to be there.

Or she'd keep looking. She'd just keep looking until she found him.

Underground was her choice. Not that she had many in front of her. She found the sewers. Wrinkled up her nose at the scent of them. Disgusting, but these weren't protected. Not like the rest of the Headquarters would be. They wanted her to drop from the top like King Kong, visible and easy pickings. But she knew that there was an extensive basement underneath the Slayer's hotel. She'd been in there with Spike, after all. It was like a bunker. With thick metal. They wouldn't expect her to go that way, but she would.

And she did.

Through a thick metal grate that had separated the building from the sewers. She slid in. And havoc began. She was no carpenter, but she knew about load bearing walls. And she had her very own wrecking ball. Herself. She shifted all her weight onto her legs and kicked. Here. There. Her arms were slowly able to move now, swing and react, but the pain was there, reaction was slow and strength was diminished.

So she would have to be smart about it. But she did not have to be afraid.

She felt exhilaration when the building shook. Groaned, heavily.

When it collapsed down.

She escaped in time, laughing all the way.

She rose up through the manhole, springing out and landing easily on her feet. The dark sky greeted her. Sun was down, now.

It was her court. Her. Battlefield.

They didn't scurry. She expected them to when they left the building with haste. Expected them to just keep running, and leave the building behind, but they stayed, gathering. There were shouts that she could hear from afar, even if she didn't have vamp hearing. When she neared, she could scent the acrid smell of blood, and it was _delicious_. Slayer blood. They hadn't gone unscathed when the building had teetered and dropped. Some had died, some might still be pinned down.

One of the Slayers was carried out, missing an arm. It had been crushed by something.

 _Don't underestimate me, that's what you get._ She was proud, triumphant. Nothing to be scared of now.

And then she saw them. Four, huddled together. Not like the rest. Mouths moving, lights emanating from their fingers. Witches. Three females and a man.

She'd take them down first.

But…

She looked. No Spike. And there weren't enough of them, not enough of the Slayers. Some had left already, some had fled before her attack.

But Buffy was there. At the head, of course. Like the arrogant blonde would be anywhere else. She held a stake, while mostly everyone else held crossbows. Crosses dripping from their necks. Angel's crew was there. Gunn, and his girlfriend Gwen. Faith was there, dark eyes searching. Looking for the big bad.

Nyx wouldn't keep them waiting.

She liked the high ground. Buffy and the others neared the vans, and she wondered if they were trying to escape. So she reached there first. A few of the Slayers screamed as she kicked one van into the others. Smashes of metal, smoking engines.

Faith and Buffy didn't scream. They were at the front. Faith cocked her crossbow.

"Don't wanna hurt you," the Slayer said. "But you kinda wrecked their house and that's a bit of a no-no. Kind of a piss off, you know?"

"Stand down, Jade." Buffy spoke, as if it were words she was forced to recite.

Nyx smiled.

Buffy looked at her stoically. She was shorter than Faith, but stood determined and resolute. Oh, the good just radiated her. Such a ball of sunshine.

And Spike was addicted to her.

The thought cut her. Deep and burning. Here was the bane of her happiness right here. Buffy. Who had everything. The vampires with souls, the whole kit and caboodle. She led all these Slayers. They'd die for her. And Jade'd let them. Buffy'd be last.

But first, she needed to find Spike.

"Where is Spike?" She asked.

"Not here." Buffy's voice was steel. Protecting her boyfriend, was she? Nyx's disappointment was tantamount. He wasn't here. She still hadn't found him.

But she would.

He'd come back. Not for her. But for Buffy.

And wasn't that just a stake through the heart.

But the only stake that would go anywhere near hers.

"Why don't you call him back, then?" She leaned against one of the vans. Her eyes crept back, past Buffy.

The four she'd been wary of joined hands.

Magic.

She wouldn't let them. She lifted up one of the vans. Kicked it up and sent it back down. Screams filled her ears.

And then the crossbows were fired.

She dodged two, twirled. Another one was close, too close. But her arm was at the ready, half-cocked. Not too much movement required, so she slapped it away with her palm. Shrieked then, as a pain assaulted her hand, burning and sizzling. They'd dipped the arrows in holy water. She was still reveling in this knowledge when another came whistling through the air. She tried to move, did at the last moment. It sunk into her shoulder.

She flung herself backward to escape the onslaught as the burning sunk through her arm, twisting and eating and devouring. She held up her good hand, shaking with the effort, and pulled it out. Her fingers blistered as she dropped the offending dart and dropped it to the ground. Bitches.

Her shoulder was in agony. But she pushed it back, pushed it out of her head. She had to get those witches.

And she did. Her van had struck one of them, as well as one of the Slayers. This time, when Jade flew back in, she descended upon them like a fury. She jumped in the middle. Heard the clicks of reloading crossbows. One of the witches was bleeding out, having been struck by metal flying from the van as it crunched down. Could hear her heartbeat slowing as the blood flowed freely. So she ignored her. Caught the next witch with a foot to her throat. Crunch. Dead.

There were two more witches left. She could see Giles, crouching near one. Jade approached her, like an animal on the hunt. The witch cradled her arm to her chest. If it'd been broken by the hotel falling down or by the van, Nyx didn't know. Defiant, pale green eyes looked back at her. Blood trickled out of the corner of her full mouth. Jade wondered how it would taste.

But the witch raised her good hand, muttered, "Ignis."

And then there was fire. Not on her. It rose up like a wall, and only the barest flames licked her skin before she jumped back. Away. Cursing as she smothered the flames. She couldn't be so direct.

So she wasn't. They wouldn't dare split up, looking for her, but they'd keep her from getting at them. That was fine. She could see in the dark better than they could. She was a shadow. A shadow with the strength of a catapult. She would drop to her back, letting it collide with the ground. Get her feet under the grill of the cars and lift up. They'd flip and descend. Devastation. Some projectiles went far off her target. The witches were trying to project glamours to confuse her, but the scent of blood and fear didn't lie. She wanted to finish the job, kill the last two, but she couldn't reach them, and trying to had been her first mistake. She was hurt now, and the holy water burned. She'd turned wrong, but she knew better now. She had to take out the others first, and not be ruled by her fear.

So when she separated a Slayer from the others by one well-aimed car, that's when she descended on her.

She think she recognized this one. Something about the fear in her eyes looked familiar. And then her face. Soft and heartshaped with big-framed glasses that sat on her nose. She was young, like most of the Slayers here. She'd seen that Boy Slayer again, the one who called himself James, and she realised then who this was. One of the girls she'd sparred with, who she'd punted into the air and then let go. Yeah, how good it was to let her off lightly then. Obviously, the girl hadn't learned anything. She was at a Slaypire's mercy again, and this time she wasn't getting a get out of jail free card. The girl's reserve was gone, any Slayer calm had dissipated and there was nothing keeping her from shrieking her head off. She managed a hardy kick at Jade's arm that earned a seething hiss from the vampire as the shock reverberated through her arm. The Slayer was struggling for all she was worth. "We weren't trying to kill you," the girl sobbed, her hair spread out beneath her, on her back as Jade pulled her back with an aching arm. There was a chorus of worried voices, calls.

"Daphne!" They cried out. Calls faded as Nyx pulled her back farther. This was private. She didn't need them getting in her way. It would be her first taste of Slayer blood and she wanted to savour it. Just as long as the rest of them didn't take the time to escape. She had a half an ear to the tremors of the ground, and the rest of her attention was focused on Daphne. Slim and frightened.

"We volunteered to stay behind to help capture you," She sobbed. "Not kill you. We're not trying to kill you. Please."

Jade leaned towards her. "Are you regretting your heroics now?" She asked.

Daphne's lips trembled and she didn't say anything. Nyx placed her knee on Daphne's chest, a great whoosh of breath leaving the girl's body as she pushed down.

"I'm curious. Answer me." She said it casually, honestly. They'd stayed behind to try to capture her, did they? They thought they were the merciful ones. How arrogant of them to assume she could be overwhelmed. That they had the power to do so. It was laughable.

"Y-yes," Daphne's teeth chattered. "I thought y-you might…"

"Spare you again?" Nyx asked, tilting her head to one side. What a thought. "Did you think we had a connection?" She smiled, licking her lips. "Did you have a crush on me?" Daphne closed her eyes and didn't say anything. Any of Nyx's desire to tease the girl about her foolish infatuation stirred but didn't burn. Wasn't something to laugh about. Hell, she couldn't blame Daphne. Nyx was Slaypire. Strong, fast. Beautiful, unstoppable. Who wouldn't worship her?

Everyone but Spike. And there was resentment and disappointment. Spike. She'd tried so hard and he still didn't… She was aching all over. Her arms were agony, her flesh burned. And he wasn't here. Didn't even appreciate what she was doing for him.

Daphne cried. She didn't struggle, out of breath as Nyx bore down on her.

"Jade…" She begged. Nyx hesitated. She _wasn't_ that anymore, didn't anyone get that? She was the better version, the 2.0, the rewrite. She had all Jade's memories, knew every thought that had gone in her head, but all the inhibitions were gone. All of Jade's dark thoughts, all her impulses, that's what she was now. She was free. She wasn't the other flip of the coin, she was just the necessary next step. She was what she was _supposed_ to be. A vampire with nothing holding her back.

And there'd be no conflict anymore. If she was hungry, she ate. If something was in her way, she'd take them out. Nothing could stop her, except magic. So she'd avoid it or destroy it. She could do anything she wanted. Except for Spike.

Daphne's eyes had opened again, and tears were visible. And Nyx found she just couldn't look at it anymore. Couldn't look at the dismay, and why, why would she make herself wait anymore?

"I need your blood to heal up," Nyx explained. Not that she needed to justify herself. "Don't worry, though. You'll like it more than you think," Nyx promised. Daphne raised her hands in a last desperate attempt to save herself. Nyx bore down until there was the crunching of the Slayer's ribs, and she let out a pained cry. Then Nyx lowered her teeth to her neck. Daphne's cry dwindled to a whimper, and her struggles stopped.

Slayer blood

Rushed through

Her veins.

Intoxicating, Exhilarating, Arousing.

If she thought human blood was gourmet compared to the animal swill she'd been drinking, this was a whole new scale. It invigorated her. And it tasted so good. Salt, iron, fear, pain, pleasure. She drank so quickly and so deeply she didn't know when Daphne's heart had stopped beating and even the faint protests she'd made had quieted. Nyx sat there and let it wash over her. No more wondering about what that tasted like either. She'd wanted it, and she'd gotten it.

Now all there was left was Spike.

But he hadn't come. A few times, the Slayers made to run. She persuaded them otherwise. She was still wary of the witches, when they put up some spell, but she didn't think it affected her. At least, she hoped so. But she didn't want to risk shoving in.

She knew night wouldn't last forever, and she was beginning to become desperate. She might be able to take them head on, but it would be a risk. She was hurt, and while the Slayer's blood invigorated her, it wasn't an instant health potion. It didn't quite work like that.

And she was running out of time. Maybe this whole thing had been another stupid, stupid attempt. Spike had ran away, or maybe Buffy stored him somewhere. Her anger returned. Back to the kill them all, no matter how long it took.

And then she heard the car. Off in a distance, the first to approach the hotel in hours. She watched and waited. There was only one person she wanted to see, and everything else was pushed away.

And then there he was. Followed by Xander and Angel. She hadn't even noticed them missing before, that they weren't part of the group supposedly staying to capture her. But she didn't care. Didn't notice anything but him.

There was Spike. Spike was here, and there was no stopping her now. She could have him now, finally. All she had to do was reach him.

And there was everyone in the way and ruining it. And Spike, looking back at her with those blue eyes. Was he disappointed. He _couldn't_ be disappointed, not after everything.

She had to find out.

Had to make him see.

She was better now.

 **AN:** _Thank you, as always, for the very lovely reviews! I love reading them, and they make me super happy and or guilty. Thank you to MarshWolffe, Vivi H88, Momnesia, xXbriannaXx, LovingAnything and BarbyChan4Ever for your comments. They make my day, and just thank you to readers in general. Also I've been writing tons but instead of having more chapters ready to put out I just have really really really long chapters, so I'm not that much further ahead of you guys at all. Lots to come! Hope everyone has a very Happy New Year!_


	9. Chapter 9

**9**

It wasn't the last time she had lifted him up, when she'd course corrected his fall and kept him from breaking anything crucial. That time, he'd relaxed into her grip, trusted her completely, knew she was guiding him to safety. But now, now he had no bloody idea what she intended. Their arc was precarious, veering dangerously to one side. She landed once, on a higher precipice, then lifted up again. He found he could struggle, that her grip was constricting, but not unyielding, but as she growled warningly into his ear, he went limp again, as this time they soared higher. They soared to the top of the once-three storied, now two levels high hotel. Bloody hell.

They landed less gracefully then she would have on her own, on the very roof. There was a tear, as the supports had crumpled, some of the building had ripped down the middle. From where they stood, he could see down nearly to the first floor, or what was left of it.

"Bloody hell," He said this time, aloud as he stared at the mess of it all. The arms around him snaked tighter. Demolished, sodding demolished. And she'd done this, the slender woman who had him in her arms. Whose yellow eyes gleamed back at him in the night, and whose lips and breath was layered heavily with blood. Fresh blood. Slayer blood. He knew if he kissed her now, he'd taste it, and though it incited the demon within him, it made him shudder. This is what had happened, because of him. She was a vampire, as demonic and as twisted as the rest of them. But she was _his_ , his responsibility. His heart was torn in two because of it.

"Do you like it?" Her words in his ear. He stared blankly down. Well sodding hell, what was he to say now? Appease her or rebel? Normally, he'd be inclined for the latter, no matter the situation, but he was frozen in indecision.

She didn't wait for his answer, the ridges in her forehead creasing further as she frowned. "Well, a closer look then." It wasn't a question, and as the world tipped drastically before him, they were falling. Out of self-preservation or habit, he clutched her tighter as they fell, down, down, down. She bore down on him while he glimpsed the sky. He turned his head, gritting his teeth as he saw the floor rise up closer and closer.

"Soddin—" The roar of the wind half-tore the words from his lips.

Buggering hell, they were going to break through the floor and his back was going to be the battering ram. Unlife flashed back—bloody hell, he'd be confined to a wheelchair again, helpless. Useless, at a crucial time that he needed to be _on his feet and capable_. For Jade. Had to do it for Jade. And even though she was the one doing this, he couldn't blame her. He could only blame himself.

The floor was there and sodding Hell this was going to hurt—

And at the last second, Jade flipped them and it was her body that took the impact, not his, and they sank down into the first level of the basement, and as she hit the next floor and didn't crash through it, her arms released him and he bounced free. He groaned, pushing his chest off of the floor. Shards of steel had cut him, pipes released their steam that had cooked his skin a little as they passed through. He had, it seemed, a thousand cuts all over his skin, but other than the initial pain, he thought little of it. He glanced instead to the still form of Jade, concern filling him. Bloody hell why did she—

She stirred, grunted. Spat out blood as she sat up. The shoulder that had been struck with the holy-watered crossbow bolt had popped out from the impact, and so she raised a slow, unsteady hand to right it. Her golden eyes gleamed in the darkness. The red-lights that had colored the basement last time were out of power now, but his eyes had adjusted well enough. Well enough to see the shape of her face, the fullness of her lips, the uncharacteristic fangs that poked through.

He held a hand to his chest. It felt bruised, as he had knocked against Jade enough during the impact. "Sod it, woman!" He demanded, anger driving his puzzlement. "Why did you do that?"

She laughed, a raucous, harsh sound. Not like hers at all, but she winced with fresh pain. "I don't want you broken," Jade explained. "I'd prefer you in one, working piece." The lasciviousness behind her tone wasn't her at all either. Her motives were twisted, perverse. But she _had_ spared him. In her right mind or not, she'd done it to keep him unhurt, even if it was her who had put them in danger in the first place. She was still protecting him, except now it was from herself. It was chaos. She was chaos.

And he was so, so sodding sorry. Her goals were still the same but the reasons behind it were malevolent. And it wasn't his Jade who would do these things, and his heart constricted painfully for her. She was closer to Angelus then she ever was to Spike when he had no soul, and she was so lost and confused. Thought she was in control, but she wasn't. She was a wild card.

The woman in front of him might have been a stranger, so different she was, so bent on destruction and mayhem. But she wasn't an alter ego. She wasn't replaced with someone completely different. This was Jade, as she had been, but every dark impulse she would have buried, every sinister thought she had and buried, it was in the open now. Trying so hard to be good, moral and right, it came back at her now. Each thing that she'd chided herself for in the confines of her mind now turned into full-fledged disgust and shame. And the love she'd had for him, though it lingered, at least some aspect of it, was now an unhealthy obsession. How his love of Buffy must have looked to them, but it was different. If anything, her love for him was a twisted one, corrupt and fallible. And it bloody wasn't fair.

"Are you alright?" He found himself reluctant to move towards her, wary. And that wasn't right. This was Jade, and he wouldn't be afraid to touch her.

No matter what she did to him. Even if she had let him crash through the floor first. He wasn't giving up on her. She was all alone, and he'd help her. He was the only one that could. He reached out for her tentatively, and though her eyes narrowed, leery, she let him carefully feel his fingers down her limbs, making sure that her arms hadn't rebroken.

"Might be easier if you just take my clothes off," She told him, unrepentant. No secret thought she had was secret now. Vampires didn't hold back, didn't know how to. Lack of consciousness, lack of caring, or just an invulnerability. Hell, he'd been one to mouth off, and that wasn't something he'd ever cured. But the words coming from Jade, so aberrant, it stilled his touch for a second as he hesitated. She narrowed her eyes further, frustrated as she shot out an indignant, "What?"

"Nothin', pet." He'd never called her pet before, but she closed her eyes, as if appeased. "Does it hurt?"

"No." She lied, then shrugged with her good shoulder. "Yes. But I'm fine. You don't have to worry about _them_ getting me." She looked at him suspiciously, as if she thought maybe he did want it, but the distrustful look dissipated as he gently rubbed his thumb on skin exposed through a tear on her sleeve.

"Lovely dress," He spoke. Keeping her calm and relaxed was his best bet. To keep them both unliving, and him from being seriously maimed. Even injured as she was, he wasn't going to overestimate her ability to lash out. She was unstable. It was the sad, sodding truth, and he could barely accept it. Just days ago, just _days_ , it had been so different. Now, now he was in an entirely different playing field, and he was having a hard time adjust. No bloody idea what he was going to do about it. Didn't know if his love would tame her or send her spiralling further out of reach. No sodding idea.

Her lips twisted into a smile that filled him with unease. "Thank you." She was fidgety, uncertain. "I'm glad you like it."

"Red was a good choice," He added. Her eyes flickered back to him, unsure if it was a gibe, but he stayed stone-faced, rigid, and she shrugged.

"I've missed you," She purred then, shuffling in closer to him so that their knees touched. "I looked, but…" She frowned again, anger threatening to flash up in those golden, predator eyes.

"'M sorry. I was out lookin' for Lyth. I thought…" Spike trailed off. Maybe that had been the wrong thing to say. He hadn't practiced much dishonesty with Jade, but he'd better get used to it now, as her forehead crinkled again, a deep frown.

"Why?" She snapped. She sounded jealous, distrustful.

"Thought she'd done somethin' to you," He answered as truthfully as he could. He raised his hand to stroke her cheek. Here they were, in the belly of a wrecked building, where walls teetered unevenly and items threatened to drop below, and he was trying to keep a wounded Slaypire from lashing out in anger, and possibly burying the both of us. "Thought she'd taken you, pet."

Jade's furious gaze curdled into something softer. She chuckled. "She wouldn't be able to take me anywhere. She's not strong enough for me." She leaned her head forward, touching her nose to the curve of his neck and shoulder, nuzzling him gently.

"You're not healed up," His voice was stern as he froze in place, letting his soulless Slaypire bury her head in his shoulder. And if it had been Jade, his Jade, the move would have melted him. But he was so wracked with guilt and concern and the knowledge that she wouldn't be acting like this, not unless he acted first. Not unless he'd returned to her like he'd said. "You should have waited 'til you were. Basic survival skills, pet."

She growled, but it wasn't an overwhelmingly aggressive sound, more sulky. Teeth, sharp and long touched his skin and he gasped, but she didn't break the skin, nibbling gently before pulling back, her golden eyes meeting his. "Don't need to be healed up. No-one can stop me."

"Shouldn't take risks, anyway," Spike warned her. He wasn't surprised by her recklessness. She often charged blindly into danger, but it had always been at risk for someone else, not as a test to prove her own invincibility. And though his words were careful, the concern behind them was rife. Soul or not, she had to be more careful. It could get her killed…. And that was something still too painful to think about.

"Needed to find you," Jade grumbled, lower lip out in a pout. Her shoulders were slumped, then straightened as she added, brightly, "I picked my vampire name."

He was startled by the change of subject, his brows raising. "Vampire name?" He echoed, although it was a known practice. Peaches the sod had been Liam in his human days, picked Angelus. He didn't know what Darla's name had been before his turning, but in all honesty, he'd never given much of a damn towards that blonde. Never cared, still didn't. And Spike, well. William was a poncy poet. It hadn't contended with his new power, his new invulnerability, his new status. Oh yes. He remembered what it was like, the power coursing through him as it did for Jade now. He'd gotten into fights that he knew might kill him because it was fun.

Oh, God. She was like him in that way, not Angelus. She wasn't conniving and deceptive. She hadn't sent the heads of the Slayers' families to draw them out, or murdered humans until they showed outside. She'd merely forced them outside head on. And she'd fought them even when she didn't have the advantage, when she wasn't at her best and close combat was her weakness. She'd done it anyway. To see if she could.

She was just like him. Her love for him was an obsession that twisted her up inside. That made her act irrationally and impossibly. Except she didn't have a chip to hold her back. She could be the fully dangerous, unstoppable vampire that she was. She couldn't be held back. She was just like him. Miserable and lost and deplorable and sod it all, he didn't know what to do. Willow was still in another plane, and as if the witch and wizard remaining could transfer souls. He didn't have hers, didn't have a way to cage her away until they could deal with her, and even that would break his bloody heart, seeing her locked up like an animal. He couldn't stand it.

"Don't you want to hear it?" Jade prompted, disgruntled that he hadn't answered her with more than a mumble. He nodded, hollowly, and her lips spread into another smile. "Nyx. Goddess of Night and all that. Don't you like it? Spike and Nyx."

He licked his bottom lip, nodding slowly. "'S a fine name. Y'like Greek then?"

"Always liked the myths," She tilted her head to one side, her eyes warming, "We could go there."

"To Greece?" He echoed. Sodding hell, his mind was a mess. He couldn't keep up this nonchalance, like everything was normal. Buffy'd be getting the wounded out of range, and then she'd be back on the hunt. Maybe bringing the Witch and the Wizard with her, and what would come of that, he just could only bloody fear. And maybe the danger was right in front of him.

"Mhm," Jade said. "We could go anywhere." She raised a hand which shook slightly, still marred from the effects of the fall, still not quite healed, and she draped it across his hip and then to his lower back, pulling him closer, though she wasn't quite facing him, her hip to his stomach. "Wouldn't that be nice?"

"You want me wit' you?" He asked, carefully.

She looked at him with a chuckle, frowning. "Of course. I did this all for you."

"For me."

"Yeah. Came here to find you. Couldn't let the others go until you came back… Spike, I haven't changed that much. I'm better."

"Better," He said. He was just repeating what she was saying, the nonsensical statements that made so much sense to her.

"Yes." She frowned, as if he was slow, not getting it. "I'm better now. I'm not getting held back by a billion little frights in my head. Not whining about my situation. Not all, 'oh no, what will they think of me if I do that'. Not little, timid Jade who has no business being with the beautiful, vicious dancer known as Spike. Come on. I was pathetic. Always second-guessing. Letting people go because I'm too merciful. Always thinking about the consequences and piling them on. I'm not afraid. I'm… unstoppable. I'm better."

"You didn't need to get better, pet." He said as evenly as he could, nearly choking on the lump rising in his throat. He'd chastised her on it from time to time, telling her that she was too kind-hearted. How much of it did she take to heart, twisting it and imagining this was what she had to be now?

Jade scoffed. "Of course I did. If I didn't, you'd never get over _Buffy_. Buffy this and Buffy that, and always _her_ ," She snarled deep in her throat, a guttural sound. "Buffy's who's the sun and all that's great and fire. Uncompromising and a right bitch, well, I can top that."

"You never needed to!" Spike snapped back, exasperated.

"Stop talking in the past," Jade hissed back. "I _did_ change, and I'm better for it, and you're not even happy." The fingers on his back dug in deeper, and he cringed.

"'M happy." He sighed, resigned. "Happy 'M here with you now, so you don't hav' to be alone."

Her lips parted into a smile. Her moods shifted so quickly, from anger to happiness, and her hold on him relaxed. "You'll never have to be apart from me again. It can just be the two of us." She said it almost sleepily, pressing her cheek to his solar plexus. He felt himself stiffen as he had when she had neared his neck. She was rife with strength, coursing through every muscle, even her bruised limbs. She could snap him in two. She might, if he kept pushing her. But he had to. He had to help her. Had to nudge her back on course if there was even the slightest chance that he could.

"No-one else?" He asked.

"No-one else," She murmured, her good shoulder leaning into his ribs. "Just you and me. In Greece, and then Italy. Just the two of us. And then…"

"Well, what would we eat, Pet?" Had to remind her. She sounded calm, relaxed. Happy. Sprouting off a happy fantasy, but it wasn't that easy. Spike knew that. She didn't. She'd pushed it from her mind.

"People, of course," She mumbled. "All the people we want."

"I don't wan' to eat people." Bloody hell, if ten years ago someone had told him he'd be saying that, he would have laughed in their face. And then ate them, likely.

She jack-knifed up straight, her eyes narrowed suspiciously again. "Then what would we eat? Animal blood?" She made a viciously disgusted face.

Spike held firm. "That's what I want, pet. I don't want to be killin'."

She gritted her teeth, grinding her large vampire molars against each other. "But that's what we do." She forced out.

"Not me. Not anymore. I haven't changed."

Jade let out an angry scoff, rising to her feet gracefully and angrily. She paced, the edges of her dress whipping around her legs, flared out with the movement. "That's not what vampires—"

"That's what I want. Would you do it?" He sank onto his knees, not quite standing, because he worried she'd just knock him back down again. So he sat there, contrite and humbly smaller, and when her golden eyes looked back at him, they softened.

She chewed on her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, crimson drops gathering where the rest had dried. "I don't see why I have to…" She said, still frustrated, torn. She whipped back and forth again, hair falling loosely to the sides of her cheek. "You never accept me!" She shot then, a growl in her throat.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I am who I am, Pet." He looked up at her. "Thought you loved that 'bout me."

She growled again, another pace carrying her across the small space they had among the rubble. "Animal blood is disgusting! Why should I limit myself?"

"Nothin' makin' you." Spike said it as casually as he could. He was torturing her, he knew. But he had to see if it was possible. Had to shake her and turn her upside down. So she'd either give up on him or try to change. Although, her giving up on him could easily end in his death. He knew that. Some of his fingers met the ground, and he shifted them around. Trying to find something in the debris that might give him an edge. Make it easier to apprehend her. It wasn't what he wanted, but maybe he had another choice.

"Well…" She hesitated. She licked up the blood drying on her lip, an inattentive, automatic gesture as she lingered, not moving. "Why should I have to do that for you to accept me?" She snapped again.

"I'll always accept you," Spike answered her back levelly. "Jus' won't be happy. It'll disappoint me, pet."

"Well, it shouldn't!" Jade exclaimed. "I'm a vampire. Don't I get to be a vampire? Finally?"

"You've been a vampire for months."

"That doesn't count," She growled. "Being… like that. Doesn't count." She kicked out angrily, cement and plaster moving in clouds of dust. There was an scraping, and he could almost swear the building was moving. He ran his fingers through his loose, debris-filled hair, ignoring the urge to run. Whatever happened, he stayed where she was. His searching fingers still looked among the ground, and her latest kick had landed more shards his way. He felt it, then a shard of something that wasn't stone, the splinters digging into his skin as he held the wood in his hand.

"Never had a problem with you like that, Pet," Spike said as diplomatically as he could.

"But you did!" Jade snapped back. "You didn't want me."

"Jade…" Spike's heart felt like someone had stabbed it with a plastic stake. And he did know that feeling. This, this part he didn't know if it was his Jade or the demon left in her place.

"It's Nyx," She spat caustically. She paced again. Groaned with frustration, mixed with pain as she glanced down at her wounded shoulder. The flesh was an angry, blistered red, the holy water leaving its mark.

"Let me look, Pet." He asked, softly. She let out an unintelligible grunt, but stomped over to him, kneeling on her own knees before him, a head shorter again. He carefully tore the fabric away, and though she watched the red ribbon of material fall to the ground, she didn't say anything about him wrecking her dress. Was torn up long before he got there. She let out a seething sound as his thumb carefully prodded the burned hole, though it didn't hurt his flesh. The holy water had mostly ran its course, but it'd take a while to heal. He said as much.

"Need blood, then," Jade said with a shrug. "And it'll be fine." She met his eyes, daring him to contradict her. "Don't you agree?"

He stayed silent, skewing up his lips in thought. She followed those lips with her half-lidded gaze, her anger lost in exchange for something more carnal. She seemed to contemplate it for a second, and then she moved forward, crushing his mouth under hers. He leaned back under the ardor of her attack, but her better arm reached around him again, keeping him there. Her lips moved furiously against his, fierce and painful, her teeth nipping at his lips. Blood mixed into their kiss, an iron tang, and there—the faint trace of Slayer blood still resided. She tasted nothing like she had the last time, but he still found his hands had circled her shoulders, by habit, wanting to embrace her, hold her. Her tongue slipped dominantly into his mouth, and he wasn't resisting it, pushing back with equal zeal, slow reluctance giving way to a desire for balance. This was Jade, writhing in his grasp and pulling him to her with a strength that he couldn't fight if he wanted to.

But he knew with a sad reality that this wasn't her. Not completely. She growled into his mouth, a deep, possessive rumble, and the equal playing field displeased her. She pushed him down, following suit to straddle him as his back was pushed into the hard edges of rubble and destruction. She broke contact, letting out a pant that wasn't necessary. He tried to sit back up to follow her, but she kept him down with a hand to his chest. His hands had slipped off of her, pressing flat against the ground instead, to keep him partially upright, and he was reminded of the shard in his fingers by the small prick of pain he felt from it digging into his palm.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it? You like your women rough. Demanding. You don't want to coddle them all the time. Sometimes you just want to be pushed." She clasped her legs tightly around his waist, sinking her weight down into his crotch. She smiled, not a cruel smile, but a malevolent one all the same. "And I can do that now."

He'd been unable to keep himself from kissing her, hoping in his heart that it might help bring her back somehow, that he could communicate what he couldn't with words. But it hadn't done that at all. The Jade who looked back at him now was farther from him than before, blood smeared on her red lips, staring at him with an unconcealed lust that unsettled him. Not that he hadn't looked at her with the same desire, though he'd always smothered it. While he was with Buffy, he was with Buffy. If anything, he was loyal.

There was a voice in his head that reminded him he wasn't with Buffy anymore. That the woman pinning him down was still one he cared for. But he wasn't that naïve. Couldn't be, not with her. She wasn't in her right mind—her right _soul_ , really. All he could think was how his Jade would be feeling now. He'd never accuse her of being unpassionate, but she wouldn't be like this, demanding. She would be horrified, he knew. Horrified to think she was taking advantage of him, so he had to make her stop. He held up his empty hand, touching it to her stomach to stop as she leaned in once more.

"Don't," He said, tone hoarse. "Jade…"

Her scowl deepened, golden eyes half lidded with hurt, but covered with anger. "I told you. I'm not Jade. I'm better than I ever was." She tightened her thighs around him, moving purposefully as she batted his hand away, off of her stomach. "Come on. Did I ever turn you on this much before? Why would I?" She looked down at him, smiling at the reaction her friction had caused, his jeans too tight around him, and she pressed so close, she could feel every change. "I'd never make you this hard before, no, I'd have to stop pretending I've become a nun, stop hiding that I want to touch you all the time."

"Ger'off," He said, not as demanding as he intended, but more desperate. She laughed it off, one of her hands reaching lazily for his belt, deftly undoing the buckle and shifting her attention to the button of his jeans.

"Why should I?" She asked haughtily. "Do you know how long I've wanted this? And now I can. Because I'm—"

"Better?" Spike returned, understanding leaking out of his tone. He had no patience for anyone belittling Jade. To look at her mercies as a weakness, to taunt her soft-heartedness, to berate her altruism. Not a bloody person could get away with that. Not even Jade herself. "Y'think you're _better_ , pet?"

The hand at his crotch stilled, and she tilted her head to one side, looking pained and irate. "Of course I am," She said, but her tone was uncertain now, not scathing. Spike rested his head back on the rubble, feeling the edges dig into his scalp. Some bloody pillow. Then… he saw something. It was only a flicker, a shadow. Help had come, then? He had to keep her distracted. For her sake as well as his.

"Think you're stronger, now, yeah? 'Cause you don't have to make allowances, don' have to hold back? Think you're the big bad because you have no control? No. You're just like every other power-hungry, newly turned fledgling. You have no smarts. You're going to get yourself killed, running in headfirst."

She licked her bottom lip, wiping the last of their shared blood away. He could see she was shaken, hurt. Good. He hated to do it to her, but at least he still had an effect on her. He hoped it'd be enough. "I have control." She said it stubbornly, like a child.

"Why'd you kill those children then, pet? The orphans?"

He wanted her to deny it. Deny every awful thing he'd heard that she'd done, and take back everything he'd seen before his own eyes. He begged. Prayed to the God he hadn't believed in a long, long time. That somehow it was someone else, anyone else. That it wasn't her. That she'd shake her head and look at him like he was crazy, come up with a perfectly reasonable explanation. God, he wanted that so badly. Wanted her so badly, and not like this. The way she bore down on him, even injured, all the power was hers. Though her hold had tightened somewhat, she still sat upright on him, and there was no escape. She could take anything she wanted. And this was Jade, and Hell knew that gentlemen or not, there'd been times he'd slipped. Imagined this. Jade, instead of Buffy, and he shouldn't have but his dreams taunted him of their own accord, and he'd thought about it when they were in the shower, the skin she'd shown then. He'd wanted her, but he denied it, for Buffy. Now, he denied it for Jade's own sake. If she ever came back from this… he couldn't let it happen. Couldn't stop her either, but he could distract her. And hope.

She shrugged, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Uncomfortable, but not proud. A frown flickered in her ridged brow. "Because."

"'Cause _why_? You know what I am. I got that pesky soul y'hate so bloody much. Said it held you back. Well mine's goin' to hold m'back, and there's nothing I can do about it, can I? So there's nothing for us, Pet, not a thing."

"No," The sound burst vehemently from her throat, a desperate tinge to it. "There's… I could work on it. Just fight the ones that wronged me… that wouldn't be too much, would it?" She looked forlorn, despondent almost, a lost look in her golden eyes.

"Why'd you kill the orphans? Lisa? Rachel? The lit'l kiddies you swore you cared nothin' for, yet still popped by to give 'em sweets and tell 'em stories of better days, and tell em they'd be great wiccans one day if that's what they wanted. _Why_?" He broke her reverie, made her think. He wanted guilt to cross her face, wanted it to pain her. Hoped it still would.

Her expression contorted. "Because I could!" She snapped. "Because… because I saved them. I saved them, and I hate children. Always have. Never got to be one. Because they were there. Because I was angry."

"You had no reason," Spike said, his voice cold. Tried to make it like steel so it wouldn't break, so she didn't see that this hurt him even more than it hurt her. "You're a soulless, evil thing." How many times had he been told this? Well it hadn't quite hurt like a bitch then, since it'd been true, hadn't it? Still, the words were sour in his mouth. Always bloody telling him that he hadn't been worth anything because he didn't have a sodding soul. And now he was repeating the words. 'Cause he had to.

"And you're not even half the woman you were before, and I will never want you like this." He'd seen the shadow again. First time, it had perched at the top of the roof, and now it was closer, still above them. He couldn't make it out. Someone to save them both, he could only bloody hope. But he couldn't focus on it as Jade shook with barely contained anger, her hand pressed to his chest. There wasn't all the strength there, like she would be at her best. Everything, from being captured by Elijah and Kern, to whatever she had been through the last days, to now had taken their toll on her.

He wondered if he could take her. Her legs were still pinning him down, he had two usable arms compared to her one. Maybe. For long enough. If he had to.

He met her golden eyes. He'd told her, again and again that her vamp face didn't bother him. That bloody hell, he'd _been_ a demon for how long, and though he couldn't exactly look into a mirror and see himself, he was plenty used to it. He'd loved Dru's faces, both of them. Golden eyes and fangs had never filled him with shivers down to his skivvies. Wasn't exactly frightening to him, or even disturbing. But now, the appearance of her full-vamped face unnerved him. Easier to focus on them as two separate entities when he didn't see Jade's blue eyes gazing back at him. He knew they were the same person—mostly, but he could separate them like this. The undeniable fear that he felt creeping into his spine as the pressure increased on him again, the fingers creeping towards his neck, he could point that at the golden eyed 'Nyx', not his Jade.

"You would have never loved me before," She hissed back, but the anger in her voice was heavily weighed down by a melancholic edge she couldn't quite cover. "Doesn't how many I kill, or didn't. As long as there's Buffy." Her eyes narrowed then, depression being covered by deviousness. "I guess I'll just have to kill the competition then."

He stiffened, and her mouth curled into a cruel smile. "And that's not a new impulse. I'll kill Buffy and then you—"

"Won' change a thing," He said as firmly as he could, as sternly as he could manage. He saw the shadow again. Closer. "Even if she's gone, Pet. Won' be turning to you."

She growled in hurt anger. She slammed her hand down on his chest, and he let out a pained huff as he felt something crack, but it lacked the punch that could have broken a lot more. "Then I'll just take it," She said. "And you'll be the pathetic one, and I'll be free."

The fingers at his chest pulled at his shirt, ripping it down the front. His pale alabaster skin was red where she had hit him, and a few bruises still showed among his chest, wounds that hadn't quite healed. She made a rumbly sound in her chest as her hand went back to his pants. He reached for her with a calm grace, both hands against her one, and she snarled, smacking one hand back so that his arm hit the rubble hard, and he groaned, "Bloody hell."

"Don't move," She said with false sweetness, hitting his head against the rock so hard he saw stars, his jaw throbbing as he blinked, momentarily threw.

But he had one hand left, and the shadow was behind her now, its movements so fast and hard to track. One last distraction, and he curled the shard of wood he still had left in his fingers. He'd never meant to use it. Threaten her with it maybe. Or spare her from something worse, but now he took the splinter of wood and raised it towards her chest. She intercepted it of course, he knew she would. He'd risen it slowly, and she had time to take her hands from his crotch to catch his wrist. She stared at the makeshift stake in his hand.

Absolutely devastation crossed her face, wounded at his betrayal. _I'd never use it_ , he told her silently. _Bloody never_ , but she didn't know that, didn't see who was behind her. But Spike did, and now that his eyes could actually focus on who it was, a shock rippled through his body, followed by a helplessness. Bloody hell, it wasn't who he'd expected at all. Hoping, maybe, in the last second that Willow had woken from her mojoed kip and come to save them all. But it was _her_ , and what was she here for, to gloat? But Jade's eyes weren't the only ones filled with dismay, a real, heart-broken gaze stared at him from behind Jade as the golden eyes before him turned to hatred.

And then there was a snap as she twisted his hand brutally, and his wrist erupted in white-hot pain, and he yelled from the agony of it, at her mercy. As he'd been for a long, long while.

"You would have killed me?" She sputtered with indignation, aggrieved and now malevolent. "I'll tear your arms off." She growled viciously. "I'll kill every last one of them, and then I'll kill you last. Or maybe not." She held the shard down to his chest, above his left nipple, towards his heart. Would she do it? His mind reeled. Either way, her attention was diverted. "I was weak then. I was in love with you, I wanted you, but I'd never be able to get you. I was pathetic. I won't be now. I'm stronger than I ever was."

"Please!" He choked out. She was standing there, and she had to act. And though he hadn't counted on her help, had signed it off with a heavy heart, now all his hope was on her, that he'd _done_ it. That what he'd done had been enough.

Jade pushed down. The Shadow moved. Spike moved to clench the hand over his heart with his aching but unbroken hand. Jade moved her head, confused, nearly aware.

"No, Jade," He coughed, and her golden eyes turned back to him. "She wasn't ever weak. And you aren't stronger than her. 'Cause she's here."

She frowned and then the Shadow was there, behind her, and the light that the shadow hid was now for all to see, a shining medallion. Jade roared as Spike held her arm down, and though she tried to swing her useless one, the Shadow's were stronger. Not a Shadow, but the Mok'Tagar Demon.

Lythia'l, her eyes blazing demon-blue, determined. But now he fell dread rippled through him—bloody hell, what if she wasn't here to help? What if she'd come to finish the job, and kill Jade? And he'd helped make her weak, helped betray her 'cause he'd been hoping, wanting, but what if he just signed her bloody death warrant, and no, no, no, he couldn't do that, and since when did he expect that bitch's help anyway, and Jade's arms, both the one tainted by holy water and the one he tried to hold down were tied up, and she was completely at the Mok'Tagar's mercy, and he wouldn't bloody trust her—couldn't! Not with Jade's life in the balance, so he released the arm he'd been trying to hold back, and Jade took to it gleefully, swinging 'round to hit the Mok'Tagar, and the demon stumbled, shouting, and Spike tried to—bloody—get up, but he was still held down by Jade's legs, who was just as determined to fight off her attacker as she was to keep him still, and he was a prisoner, and the demon had stumbled, knees to the rubble, but she was still holding onto Jade, and she looked at Spike and yelled.

"Trust me, you idiot!"

And he couldn't. Couldn't trust that she'd be more likely to help Jade then just stick a stake in her, but then he remembered that it was _Jade's_ soul hanging on the neck, something he most bloody definitely hated the demon for, but it was her soul, her goodness, she was the light at every tunnel, and he'd always trusted Jade, so he had to help her, and as one hand broke free of Lythia'l's grip and moved to the demon's neck instead, and as Jade swung up her good arm to strike at the demon for all she was worth, Spike grabbed at her, pulling her off balance, and he didn't get to see what happened next, because Jade moved her elbow and socked him in the chin, and his head snapped back to smack into the rubble like before, except harder this time, brutally, and he heard a crunch, and the world slipped away from him, into darkness.


	10. Chapter 10

**10**

 _Three days ago and a few more past that_

Lythia'l was quite proud of herself, and who could blame her, really?

There was a human saying somewhere, well, there were lots of them to be quite frank, but the one she'd preferred which wasn't too lengthy at all, and that was probably why she liked it, and it was: The most two powerful warriors are patience and time. Well, that was her in a nutshell, now wasn't it? Oh, all fighters fancied themselves warriors since they tussled in the dirt and blood, but they were just trying to make footnotes of their brief little existences, thinking that their kill counts might be hung on the walls and talked about in later years.

What a silly little concept. Lythia'l didn't lack for strength or for resilience, but she didn't go knocking heads about trying to make a statement, now did she? No. She was conniving, manipulative, wily, all those words for being intelligent and sly. And now, she could add patient to that list. Very, very patient, to the point she'd torn her hair out in frustration.

Thankfully, it grew back rather quickly. As did her nails, so she'd long resigned herself to the fact that human manicures was not something she could reasonably partake in and expect them to last more than a day. Nail polish was her salvation, and oh, how lovely the little sparkles looked on her fingers.

Her dimension had nothing like this at all. No manicures—ha! No parties, either. They weren't exactly warlike anymore, which meant they tore each other part by verbal prose. Every good little Mok'Tagar demon was expected to spend their nose in books and sharpen up their wit, and never, _ever_ let the Lug'Tonin clan back into the council, because they were a bit too vicious and prone to biting.

And she'd been good for the first eight hundred hundred years or so. It was a blessing that the Mok'Tagar lived so long, because once they got all the elders together for council, it could last months. Even _years_. And being the daughter of one of the Chieftains, a very respected Elder, Arachich meant that she was expected to attend more and more as the centuries went on.

It was in her twelfth century that she actively began to rebel. Her long monologues, which she'd been congratulated on for being very witty and scathing and particularly long winded, were now short and to the point, and she was beginning to sound a bit too Olan-nith Clan-like, who'd long been demoted to the less prominent ranks, the lower reaches, for their ghastly _one-liners_ , and she was immediately sent to the Clan's composer to sharpen up her act. And she did of course, on the outside, because it was never _difficult_ for her, it was just extremely tedious. She was more interested in the far more difficult and intriguing side of the Mok'Tagar legacy, which was teleportation and inter-dimensional travel. And of course, that had a whole bunch of precautions slapped onto it, because why would anyone want to leave the realm to travel, and that was how the whole clan of Prolemin had disappeared, the foolish pilgrims that they were had simply vanished into a portal and never returned.

And never let it be said that Mok'Tagars were ignorant of the other worlds they could travel to, of course not, the truth was, they simply didn't want to, and so rarely did. The break of tradition was an offense, a humiliation that could very easily carry into conversation for the next several centuries or so, as the clans would never hesitate to out a black sheep in order to shake up the ever-changing clan dynamics. Just because they didn't poke sticks at each other and bite each other to death didn't mean they were friendly. In some ways, articulating was just as vicious and calamitous, and everyone was always looking for a leg up.

That was when, Lythia'l first heard of Kathiril, the daughter of a known chieftain named Taparrich had disappeared into one of these other dimensions, to a world they'd named in a hundred words or so, but the inhabitants called it Earth. They were warned that the rules weren't quite the same there, that they were more likely to revert back to the more primitive, less eloquent version of themselves, and while having an soul was a superfluous notion that the Mok'Tagars had never required, it was much more important there. There were billions of people, who had numerous children, instead of just one, and they didn't live for centuries, only just the one if they were extremely lucky, and many, many people walked around illiterately, and no-one was required to recite the three-thousand length commandants before each council session.

It sounded like paradise. But Taparrich had sent two of his own clan to look for her and bring her back, and the whole while, Lythia'l was plotting. When her father Arachich, took the situation to remind his daughter how important the Mok'Tagar's traditions were and how much shame Kathiril had brought upon her family, Lythia'l had replied with all the obedient eloquence that was expected of her. And the years while Kathiril was missing passed by like eye-blinks, and Lythia'l practiced her aptitude for portals. She took a while to get the shape right, a sort-of vortex looking thing that was supposed to suck her in, but it was hard going, and she knew it usually took a few practiced in the art to concoct the portal and she was trying to do it all on her own.

But she was very determined, and that was how she first learned patience. Kathiril had done it, after all, although rumor was it she'd slipped in with couple of the council's chosen Seekers, who of course, had nothing to do with the Prolemin, and were quite versed on all the consequences that could happen to one during transdimensional travel, but the council were a proud lot, and they hated to be misinformed, so it had been the Millennial, carefully organized Pilgrimage to go out and seek knowledge, the one they had every thousand years or so, and that was how Kathiril had slipped through.

And as patient as Lythia'l was, she was, in no way, wanting to wait the next thousand years for her chance, especially since they'd be likely to increase their security. But she'd done it, or nearly, when, with Taparrich at the head, the infamous Kathiril returned, wearing clothes of bright blue, and nothing like the black robes everyone was required to wear, and though it was unanimous that Kathiril—or Kathy, as she was now calling herself, be shunned, Lythia'l could not be dissuaded.

She'd hunted down Kathy and made her tell Lythia'l just about _everything_ that had happened. And Lythia'l had absorbed every last bit of it. College, what a strange concept, where they had to _pay_ to learn things, instead of just open the books that were free to everyone, and there was this woman named Cher and her voice was heavenly, and they inserted 'like' into the middle of sentences, and while that was a perfectly reasonable way to increase the already turgid speeches that their kind were so famous for, Lythia'l found the whole thing completely fascinating. She was a bit older than Kathy, only by two centuries, but she was determined to learn from her mistakes, and to absolutely, never be dragged back in disgrace.

And so when she was satisfied she'd learned all she needed to know from Kathy, she'd made her escape. She'd slipped through her slightly unstable portal and ended up in California, the same California as Kathy had. And it was bright. She had never seen so many colors. In her dimension, the sky was black and the world was rock formations and sand and there was nothing such as flowers. It was true, however, that she did notice a difference in the she acted. She had considerably less concern for reading than she ever had, and the music she'd never heard before had absolutely bowled her over, although she found Kathy's preferences were somewhat lacking, and found her own favorites.

And she found she much loved partying, and that it wasn't hard at all to fit in, and there was something called laughing, which was a loud form of coughing and said more than words did.

And the first year was full of new experiences, and learning, and she had to carry around a plastic card with her face on it, and people screamed when they saw her demon-blue eyes and to trim her nails every day or they poked through her sandals, and she'd never worn shoes before and never needed to but there were just so many _options_ everywhere and it was the most glorious fun she'd ever had, and Kathy had barely covered it all.

And then, the Mok'Tagars having learned from the first time, found her within that first year. And she'd gotten away, just barely, by falling in with a group of vampires. And vampires were a inferior lot, all about killing and darkness, and though she couldn't really blame them completely, she found drinking blood a bit too garish and them a bit too vapid and bloodthirsty and while she certainly had no problems with stealing or lying or any of the sort, having a lack of a soul didn't make her a murderer. And so she found she couldn't fit in with the vampires well either. Humans were stupid, but at least they were fun, and they did this odd stand in front of a barrel of ale and they drank and drank and Lythia'l found she was very good at it.

But she had to hide in the shadows, because they kept looking for her, and although they didn't recognize her with her skin all grown like a human's, one look at her eyes and they knew she was lacking a soul. And while that had never mattered at all in her own realm, it was essential in this one, and how odd was that. And of course, her people had a ritual for that. They had a ritual for everything, although soul-sucking was a bit archaic, it was in the books, and as a once dutiful daughter, Lythia'l had read them. But she'd also listened to Kathy's warnings. It seemed that it took a very long time, and it had made the human she was doing it to nearly intolerable, and had ripped her skin off. And Lythia'l decided that there must have been a better way, and of course she'd be the one to find it.

But in the meantime, she had to get the Mok'Tagar off her figurative tail—yet another human phrase she'd picked up. And she'd been fitting in quite spectacularly, although she learned humans weren't so quite patient with siliques longer than three paragraphs, and she'd been practicing her shortened sentences so well that she'd be able to fit in with the Olan-nith now, and her father would be absolutely horrified. But she was in her eleventh century and the rebellious years, and while the years in her realm were so tedious and mundane, here in the human world, every second was dangerous and exciting and there was alcohol and there was _sex_ and it was just so utterly stimulating, and she could never go back to hearing the elder council speak the opening and closing statements in all thirty dialects of the Mok'Tagar language. English, in contrast, was so much simpler, and she'd picked it up from Kathy and nearly mastered it here, and she was proficient in the 'like' installments as well as giggles, and she never, ever, ever wanted to go back.

She had no sympathy for Kathy, no sympathy at all for anyone, really, but she used a Kathy as a reminder of what must-not-happen-to-her, the same way the humans used a man on a cross as a lesson throughout the ages, and though she had no religion, not in the same way humans did, she had that thought like a mantra in her head. Must not go back. So while vampires were far from her ideal choice, they were necessary to hide her, but it was a miserable experience. She wanted to go to parties and dance and 'boink', which was apparently one of the many words they used interchangeably for having sex, but all vampires wanted to do was kill people, or feed, and they had as much disdain for her as she did for them.

She had to find something more permanent. And that was when she found Haven. Studied it intently of course, for even though she didn't _like_ researching, she was rather good at it, and she found quite a lot of helpful information, likely knowing more than most of its inhabitants by the time she was finished. It had been around for hundreds of years, constructed by these witches who had sympathy for a couple of slaughtered demons. And it was unfindable unless by magic or by knowledge. And it was the perfect place for her to hide. Vampires galore, unfortunately, but there were other things that walked about without a soul. The Mok'Tagar wouldn't be able to find her here, and for a while, her desire for a soul was forgotten, because did she really need one anyway? No, she was perfectly capable and attractive without one, and while she was in Haven, she didn't have to even watch her back anymore. And there was dancing again, and clubbing, and lots of sex, and maybe once or twice with a vampire, but there were humans too, and there was drinking and fun.

But there was only so many times she could go to the Iron Crab-hand or the Fragment before she started thinking the 'what else' and lamenting the first year she had where she had gone anywhere she wanted, and wished she had taken advantage of it more. No, she had barely left California, and what a mistake that had been, since now she was stuck solidly in the little State, and she wanted to see New York, and Europe, and although her teleportation wouldn't exactly handle long jumps across the sea then she could just try getting on one of those metal flying things and that would be an adventure in itself.

Instead, she was stuck here, and Haven seemed to shrink and shrink until it was barely more than her front yard. And she'd tried, a couple of times. Jumped out of Haven for a spell, but first it took them a month, and then a week, and then a day, and then every time she left Haven, there were her Mok'Tagars Seekers and there were more of them now, and she couldn't risk them coming to Haven, for even though they weren't capable of transdimensionally coming in, or teleporting in and out of it for that matter, if they discovered it, then they might learn to walk in, and she couldn't have that. Her prison was small enough already.

And though it had only been four short years since she'd come to Earth, she was miserable. Miserable because there was so much to explore, and she was stuck, and it wasn't fair, and it was then that her desire for a soul became an obsession, the key to her unfortunate imposed prison.

And it was a little while after that when Lyth was celebrating her 1137th birthday, too drunk to even teleport properly—although she'd tried, and ended up in a roof, and then in the water, so this was her third attempt to go home which she had then had settled on walking, and she'd cut through the cemetery, and it was then that she heard a scuffle. Through her very blurry vision, she could see two figures fighting, although it was a bit too dizzying for her to focus on properly. And apparently she'd gotten too close in her curiousity, because as she looked down at her gorgeous shoes and tried to fight with the impulse to throw up on them—alcohol mixed just about as well with a Mok'Tagar as it did with a human—she was suddenly hit by the flying body of one of the two figures she'd seen fighting.

Her angry ow had been met with an apologetic mumble as the human projectile rose to her feet and offered a hand to her. She was entirely ordinary, this small, skinny human with pale skin that was only a not-vampire shade because of the flushed complexion along her cheeks, and the blue eyes that looked down at her were indubitably souled. The one she was tussling with, not so much, and he struck the woman in the back before Lythia'l even had a chance to raise her nose up at the offerings. The tiny female was obviously mismatched, but Lythia'l didn't see why she should care—after all, she had dirt now, on her sparkly dress and who was going to clean _that_ up, it was terribly stained.

But she remembered the rules of Haven even if no-one else did, and it was very, very important because she didn't want to get thrown out by the grouchy Sheriff Hazim just because someone else wanted to play rough. "No killing in Haven," She reminded them, impatiently, earning a lost look from the blue-eyed girl and a cackling laugh from the vampire.

"I'm just going to feed on her a little," the vampire protested raucously, tossing a ratty looking ponytail of his dark hair back over his shoulder. "Just a couple of mouthfuls."

"I'll have to pass on that," the human responded in a surprisingly deadpan tone as she rose back on her feet. Well, this was Haven, after all, although Lythia'l _expected_ ignorance on anyone who only had a smidgen of her lifespan, she shouldn't expect all the inhabitants, even the human ones to be particularly unaware.

"Well, figure it out with killing each other, and keep me out of it," Lythia'l said in a huff. It was terribly hard to stand up straight when the world insisted on spinning, and she'd wanted to go back to her home, and she really wished she had drunk just a _little_ less so she could teleport without worrying she'd end up two stories off the ground without a building under her feet.

The human straightened up. Her fall hadn't hurt her, which was surprising, since vampire strength was quite beyond that of a human, and she looked ordinary enough. Nothing demon-y at all. Her dark hair was whipped up in a messy bun, and it was half-falling down, surprisingly long locks, although her hair wasn't nearly as thick or as glossy as Lythia'l's was, which she noted with some satisfaction. Lythia'l had quite taken to the fact that her human façade had earned no end of male—as well as female—attention, and she considered herself quite attractive, and of course she'd rate herself compared to the other females as she passed them by. After over a thousand years of wearing robes and having to style one hair's a certain way, she'd owed herself a large amount of vanity.

"Do you need some help home?" The female asked then, seriously. A goodie-good type, and normally Lythia'l would scoff that the human wasn't quite the tall, bulky, muscular male who of course could walk her home at any time, but the world was slipping again and her eloquent refusal became a not-so-wordy grunt. She stumbled, but a small and unexpectedly strong arm had gripped her, and while her companion wasn't the sexy man she would have wanted, she was all Lythia'l had, and a sight better than the vampire who was still standing there, confused and hungry.

"Hey, I wasn't done," the vampire protested as the female began helping Lythia'l out of the graveyard, and the extra strength was sort of nice, because Lythia'l's feet could float just a little and she barely had to make any effort of her own.

"You're done," the human returned softly, and while she'd been fighting for her life a few minutes ago, she seemed just as content to shake off the danger and let Lythia'l shakily point the way back to her apartment. But of course, Mr. Fangs and had-a-problem-with-being-ignored had to butt in—Lythia'l could just roll her eyes at the audacity of vampires. They were children, all of them. All kill this and kill that, albeit it was still preferable to hearing most of them trying to lasso coherent thoughts together. A race of philosphers they were not. Distinctly lacking in patience, and an overabundance of ego. And this one was not at all unlike the rest, throwing a punch towards them and nearly catching Lythia'l in the face. If she had even an _iota_ of her normal balance, she'd have taught him a fierce lesson, but she didn't, and she realised the reason that he _hadn't_ hit her was because her human companion had caught his arm, stopping him.

Although one arm was still wrapped around Lythia'l to keep her upright—although upright was still a little difficult to figure out—the human's legs were free, and she jabbed them viciously into the vampire's stomach, sending him flying, and there was a crack as his head hit a tombstone and broke it in two. Both Lythia'l and the woman tilted their heads to see if he'd get back up, but he remained still. He wasn't dust either, so he wasn't dead-dead either. Lythia'l shrugged her shoulders, stifling a giggle that wouldn't have come out if she hadn't been so inebriated, but the human tossed another long, calculating look at the still body.

"Shouldn't I—?" The woman stilled, and Lythia'l collapsed against her with a sigh. Some walking stick.

"Stake him? Not unless you want the Sheriff on your ass. You can't kill unless they try to kill someone first. That's the rule of Haven." Ugh, the only thing the alcohol didn't take away was her eloquence. Eleven hundred years of wordiness, and not even a little intoxicated slur could fix that.

"Oh." The woman answered back, still a little reluctant, but at least her feet were moving again, and _finally_ , because Lythia'l wanted to get home and puke in her toilet.

"Are you new to Haven or something?" Lythia'l asked disdainfully, not surprised when she got an affirmative from the woman. She snorted. "Find it by accident?" _Better not_ , as if she needed the rest of the little Mok'Tagar troupe to decide they needed to walk into every magical town and happen upon her.

"No," the female answered to that. Not an accident then, that was interesting, or at least it would be, if she was a sexy man who wanted to ravage her, not some small woman playing the white knight. They walked in silence for a while, until the female spoke again. "I'm Jade, by the way."

She sighed. First name basis with a human that wouldn't even be alive in another century. She still didn't understand branching out. Why make relationships if they weren't going to last a thousand years. Still, as the human helped Lythia'l up the stairs of her rackety apartment building, Lythia'l decided it wouldn't hurt, even if she was likely never to see the woman again, and so she'd answered back.

"I'm Lythia'l."

And she'd been quite wrong, after all, about the never seeing the human again after Jade had helped her back to her apartment. No, she'd seen her again, and again, though none of the violent outbursts as the last time, she'd simply been watching. And she was skinny, and first Lythia'l was a bit envying of the human's easily slim figure, she realised later that she was _too thin_ , like a skeleton, and it was after she'd seen Jade leaving one of the vampire's nest with a bunch of the undead on her tail and not the slightest bit of worry on her face that she realised the human might last even less than a quarter century, and how dismally inconsequential an existence like that would be.

And she'd been bored, pickings had been slim in the last couple of weeks and would it _kill_ the Fragment to redo their upholstery so she wouldn't have to stare at the exact same room every time, and add some new drinks to the menu, please. So one night she'd asked the half-starved woman to come to her apartment with her and have something to eat. She hadn't had any problems with human food either, and she was pretty sure that nothing was poisonous. And the human, well she was still just a child. _Less_ than that, _Lythia'l_ was a child to her people, barely a teenager, and this Jade was even smaller. So she'd invited her over, and the human came, eyes always searching, wary, cheekbones that weren't nearly as prominent or as shapely as Lythia'l's made so by the gaunt look she was sporting.

It simply wouldn't do, she found it detestable to simply let the toddler-like human die, so she demanded Jade's presence the next few days as well, and their meals together were becoming somewhat of a tradition, although a particularly muscular and deep-voiced Kailiff demon kept Lythia'l occupied for a few days, until she tired of his one-word answers, just a little too much inarticulateness for even her to handle. While they were having sex it was perfectly fine, but there was nothing outside the bedroom that could keep her the slightest bit interested, so she turned back to her pet project. She simply hadn't been able to cure Jade of her ghastly pale complexion, or that dazed, empty look in her eyes, but that didn't mean she couldn't. No, Lythia'l was capable of a great deal of things, if she wished it. Not wish, wished it. She wasn't a Vengeance Demon after all, although of course, she was aware of them. She was aware of most types of demons, and they didn't even inhabit her dimension. What the humans' excuses were for being ignorant in their own realm, she had no idea.

But Jade was surprisingly informed, for being an ordinary human. But Lythia'l knew what her predecessor, Kathy, hadn't. Kathy'd been terribly surprised that a human female had been able to stand up to her, as Mok'Tagars should have strength superseding that of a human, but with extensive research, Lythia'l had determined that Kathy had not, in fact, tussled with an ordinary human, but the supposed Slayer. And what she had observed from Jade so far would put her in that same category, and one evening, as they munched slightly salty potatoes that Jade had baked up, Lythia'l had said as much.

Jade had tensed, and Lythia'l had snorted, warning her to not try to 'put the wool over her eyes' another odd human citation that Lythia'l had taken to. Although Lythia'l hadn't exactly kept up with her studies since she'd come to this realm—although her years in Haven had meant she had more time to return to reading, albeit grudgingly—being ignorant was a great dishonor, and even though she'd left her homeworld, some habits took a while to die.

"Yes, I was."

"Seems to me that the Slayer affliction is not something that becomes of the past," Lythia'l sniffed in response, disdainfully, picking at the cheesy, greasy baked potato circles that were certainly not good for her figure but so temptingly delicious she had stuffed all protest to the back of her mind.

"Well, I'm done with it," Jade answered quietly. "Besides. There's plenty of other Slayers now, it's not my problem."

"It's a waste," Lythia'l declared, not missing the indignation in those blue eyes. Lythia'l's eyes were much bluer, and they'd blazed a couple times at Jade, although after the first time, the human was no longer shocked, and Lythia'l suspected that her being a demon did not come as a surprise to the female. "You have one purpose in your life and you're supposed to do it. Unless your purpose is to read books and spout monologues for a thousand years, in which case…do what you have to do. But you live such pathetically short lives, so moping is such a waste of the sparse years you have."

Jade's lips twitched with one of the first smiles that Lythia'l had seen on her face. She was amused, not offended, which was a refreshing change, as most humans didn't seem to enjoy her bluntness, females especially, when she knocked on their hair or told them they were wearing the wrong shade of lipstick. She could rag on Jade's appearance all hours long, but it didn't seem to bother the female. Or convince her to change her ways either. She only had three outfits—ghastly, although Lythia'l would be happy if no-one ever mentioned how she'd worn the same robes for a millennium—and they consisted of sweatpants and hoodies from what Lythia'l could tell. The little Slayer was wasting away, and she didn't seem to care.

However, she did have a soul, a little tarnished, and maybe Lythia'l'd be able to sneak it out of her. So while her next words seemed particularly charitable and unbelievably sacrificial, it was all for the better good when she said, "So move in with me; I want a roommate so I don't have to pay as much, and get a job, and please buy something that replaces that awful dinosaur hoodie."

And Jade did. Not the dinosaur hoodie part, unfortunately, but the rest the female fulfilled. Seemed like she needed a push, with no motivation left of her own, so Jade got a job down at the liquor store, and Lythia'l stared her brilliant plan of trying to suck the soul of her, now that she was in the adjoining room.

Except that it didn't work. The first time that Lythia'l had tried to open Jade's bedroom door at night—alright, so she'd _said_ she'd try something other than the Ritual of Mok'Tagar, but she decided it was a good starting point—she found it locked. That was fine. She could teleport if it wasn't too far, and she knew what the room looked like. So easily enough, she hopped right in. And then a strange buzzing sound filled the room, and it was _loud_ , and the sleeping Slayer propped one lazy eye open and shut off the alarm with a careful slap of her fingers.

"Checking on me to make sure that I'm sleeping alright?" Jade had said in a decidedly impish voice, and Lythia'l, without anything to say—and that was quite a rare occurrence, had sputtered that Jade was snoring too loud and promptly teleported back out, quite bewildered. Alright, so the human was a bit paranoid, but she couldn't possibly suspect what Lythia'l was trying to do. But her next attempts—putting both blood and crushed up sleeping pills in the chili mix were unsuccessful too. After her third—possibly fourth—attempt to start the ritual, never mind actually keep it up, since several ingestions were required for the soul transferral to be complete, she was beginning to feel a bit deflated. It just wasn't working, and she'd prided herself on being much more successful than Kathy, but she was being thwarted by a female who'd almost just died from indifference, and now there was a spark in her eyes each time she circumvented one of Lythia'l's brilliant plans.

Jade was eating triumphantly from a bowl of untainted cereal and milk, sitting up on the counter when Lythia'l came into the kitchen, not even hiding a groan. And Jade shot her a playful look, that was much more full of life than it had been before, and commented, "You don't think I'd room with a Mok'Tagar Demon without being prepared, did you?"

Lythia'l let out a string of expletives, feeling quite silly and foolish, and she crossed her arms in front of her chest as she saw teenagers do, and mumbled, "I don't want you as my roommate anymore."

"Yes you do," Jade had answered back quite brightly, jumping down onto her feet. "Life would be boring without me."

And as much as Lythia'l hated to admit it, she was almost right. So while she threatened Jade with being kicked out quite often, she found she didn't actually do it, and her attempts grew less and less frequent because she couldn't stand the triumphant smile on Jade's face. So one day, of course, she just had to wipe it off the human's face with a pointed question about her past. That was certainly expected to bring the gloom on, and it did, without fail.

"So why is it that someone like you knows about Mok'Tagar demons anyway?" Lythia'l had sniffed, trying to sound appropriately scathing, and Jade's expression had fallen in response, leaving Lythia'l satisfied.

"My Watcher made sure I was kept aware," Jade had mumbled, petting one of the outrageously furry strays that she had brought into the apartment and that Lythia'l hadn't quite managed to rid herself of yet. Short of killing it, and she was tempted. She was almost perfectly convinced that cats didn't have souls either, as vain and as selfish as they were, with Jade always petting and lathering affection on it as if it was a God. Needed a man, that one. Or a woman, Lythia'l wasn't quite sure what the human's preference was. Lythia'l had done plenty of experimenting herself, although she settled on a type that Jade had dubbed 'Thor-like'.

"And where is your Watcher now?" Lythia'l latched on elatedly, and relentlessly. It was Lythia'l's turn to gloat for once. "Shouldn't you be getting back to them?"

"No," Jade answered back, and it was nearly a growl. Well, this wouldn't do. Ignorance wasn't acceptable, and let it never be said that Lythia'l wasn't tenacious. She was. And nosy. And if that was how she'd convince Jade to stop thwarting her soul taking ritual (that was the preferred option) or stop being her apartment so Lythia'l could snag a more unaware sucker, then she'd do it.

"You've been here for months now. Now I'm glad you've gotten over the little skeleton act, you're still not over the whole dead-ish look in your eyes, and I'm not going to spend the next eighty years of my life waiting to hear the exciting parts of your life so that you can keep your mystery. Because while eighty years is nothing to me, it's like your whole little life. So spit it out. What can really be that bad?"

Jade looked back at her, a little indignant, but Lythia'l had been right about the lack of a spark, because then the Slayer shrugged, indifferent. "My Boyfriend got turned into a Vampire by my Watcher who was also my Sister, I killed my boyfriend, didn't know my sister had been the one to orchestrate his turning, I was her little perfect Slayer for over a year after, and then when I found out, I snapped her spine and ran away." She'd said it snappishly, angrily, and there'd been a happy little smile on Lythia'l's face, because she did love juicy gossip.

"Didn't that make it feel better?" She asked haughtily, not really caring either way.

But Jade had looked back at her a bit quizzically. "Yeah, actually. It did."

And that had been the start of a rather unconventional friendship, although they were opposite as a Slayer and a Demon could expect to be—alright, so that was pretty anticipated, but while Lythia'l didn't always understand her roommate's brooding and self-imposed isolation, it was better than being alone. Or being with a vampire, ick. And Lythia'l started looking up other ways to steal a soul, because she still didn't think Jade would miss hers much, but she'd been thinking for quite a while that she'd have to find someone else completely unawares, or get one off the black market. Unfortunately, even the town's witch, Syeira couldn't get her hands on one, despite being all into arcane arts, but there were plenty of other trinkets that caught the Mok'Tagar's eye, although she didn't have as much interest in the appearance changing glamour rings when she learned it still wouldn't fool the Mok'Tagars on her tail, still, it was fun, and the familiar haunts in town were getting just that—familiar, and at least this way she could pretend to be someone else for a while. And she'd gotten quite a reputation that was neither good nor bad, and those who couldn't stand her glib knew to avoid her.

But still, it was just pretend, just little things to keep her from being bored, and she was turning her attention to _books again_ , because it was still a surefire way to keep herself busy, but that had been why she'd left her dimension in the first place, that and the boring décor, and she thought herself patient, but if she had to live another century here in this tiny little town she might go insane. And the little Poker games or the parties weren't doing it for her, especially since a vampire had joined the Poker club and he cheated even better than Lythia'l did, and he did that thing with his tongue when he counted cards and he was ridiculously attractive, as well as annoying, because he didn't even look at her twice. And there was something off about him, and she realised it when she looked in his eyes that sparkled too much and _how did he get his soul?_ And that seemed terribly unfair, because vampires had no use for them really, and didn't need one anymore, and boy, would she have liked to get her own, but all her attempts at flirting with him had been shut down and he hadn't even let her get to asking about the soul at all. No, whatever he was interested in, sure wasn't her, and that was just aggravating, even worse than the whole losing poker part.

And if anyone had told her that her roommate would just waltz off with him, she'd have been calling them insane and been just a bit miffed. As it did eventually happen, she was more than a little miffed, offended and a little left out. And then Jade had been leaving, for good, and why was Lythia'l even displeased like that at all, she should have been pleased that the little Slayer was lively and giving a damn again, because the whole upset cloud over her head had been a drag. And now she was gone, and it was Lythia'l trying to get rid of all these cats that Jade had left behind, being overly jealous that she could just leave whenever she felt like it, while Lythia'l was stuck in a town that was far too small for her, and how unfair was that.

And of course, Jade had to get herself turned into a vampire, because why not, anything to get her in the bed of the bleached blonde one, Lythia'l could only imagine, except she came back with a soul and _how fair was that?_ Of course, Lythia'l was a bit gladdened that Jade didn't just go off and lose it after Lythia'l's patience, but what was she doing wearing it around her neck like a prize when it was all that Lythia'l wanted? And yes, she knew it was there although Jade had tried to hide the fact, but her eyes were all strange, they glowed, but her soul wasn't in her properly, sort of an attached limb, and Lythia'l was a Mok'Tagar demon, and she could see souls, so of course she could find it, and she did. But she couldn't get it—if Jade was strong before, she was double that now, and she hadn't ever lost her wariness—if anything, it was on overload now. So in the weeks that Jade had moved back into Haven after being turned, Lythia'l hadn't made so much as an attempt, because Jade was awfully touchy about that sort of thing, and if Lythia'l would only get the one chance, she couldn't waste it. But then Jade was gloomy again, and it was that sort of love triangle between Buffy and Spike or however Jade had explained it, but the love triangle saying never made sense to Lythia'l because if Jade wanted Spike wanted Buffy then Buffy should want Jade, and that didn't happen nearly enough in the soaps that Lythia'l watched, so it was more like a love caret if anything.

And the name Buffy, well, it was likely a popular one then, because it was highly unlikely to be the 'roommate from Hell' that Kathy had described her to be, although that'd be a bit interesting if it were the same, Lythia'l cared only so much for problems like that, especially since, in Lythia'l's mind, it was all solved. Buffy was mortal, Jade and Spike wasn't. It was just sixty or seventy years—probably less, since Buffy was a Slayer too. Just an eye-blink, really, and she didn't know what had gotten Jade all down in the dumps. It was just patience, after all.

It could solve quite a lot if it were just trusted.

After all, patience led Jade to her, with a soul just hanging on her neck. Circumstance left the once-Slayer, now vampire's arms broken and useless, and fortune left her dazed and unfocused. And Lythia'l had been planning this for so long. The rings, the changing appearances. She'd even picked up clothes similar to that of Spike's, worked on her accents. Picked up money to help pay for all the things she'd gotten from Syeira—alright, stolen the money, but what did the Witch care if she was paid—and she'd gotten a glamour that looked like Spike—those killer cheekbones were hard to forget—and it was Spike that had completely turned Jade on her head and distracted her so vividly that the pieces all fell into shape. She called it patience, even if it was luck. Mostly luck.

But she'd done it, hadn't she, and she deserved it. Spike had dropped the half-broken Jade on her doorstep, and she'd seized her opportunity, her only chance. She'd attempted it and now she'd _done_ it, and Jade's soul was in her hands as she teleported away, and even though it hadn't been a century, it had been nearly six years since she'd come to Earth, there was still a _finally_. After 1139 years, Lythia'l was free to go wherever she wanted with her new soul.

Lythia'l was quite proud of herself, and who could blame her, really?


	11. Chapter 11

**11**

She wasn't exactly the type that needed to stick around and admire her work, so her exit was lacking punch, but it was a necessary retreat. Jade she knew was rather predictable with her white-knight stereotype, whatever Lythia'l had left behind was considerably more unstable. She didn't have to admit that with a single particle of guilt, it was just logic. So with the bright little gem in her hand and only the barest look at the sight of Jade, curled to the floor, she teleported away. Then, she made several jumps until she was far, far out of town. She didn't have much of a direction, just the knowledge that it was probably best to get as far as she could while the sun was down. Vampires and all that, Lythia'l was quite sure she'd have the lead she needed, being both able to teleport and not having to worry about catching fire in the sun.

In all aspects, really, she was superior to that of a common vampire. And to think, she'd had to spend weeks and months in their company before she found Haven. And then, they were just as common in Haven as there were other demons, and so she hadn't exactly been able to distance herself. But now she could. Back to the odd little humans with their tiny little exciting lives, and the whole world had just opened up _again,_ and she was ecstatic as well as triumphant. She'd done it. She never had to worry about being dragged back to her dimension again, and the forty thousand word apology she'd have to recite, well, she could just rip it right up if she had bothered to write it. Okay, she had come close a few times. It had gotten close a couple times. Another hundred years stuck in Haven and she really would have thrown herself to the wolves for a change in scenery. The wolves being the Mok'Tagar seekers of course, yet another human adage she'd picked up quite naturally. She really was so proficient at this human stuff. It was easy enough to learn, and she didn't have to pick up any more of it from books. The rest would be experience.

So when she thought she had enough distance for a while, she took the pendant from where she'd stuffed it in her pocket and put it around her neck.

And when she felt anguish so strong she felt her eyes water, she promptly threw it off again.

"By the higher reaches, what was that?" She exclaimed, momentarily forgetting the lingo and resorting to old-time cussing, shaking her head. Her voice was a little high-pitched and too shaky, and she eyed the shining necklace where she'd dumped it on the dirt. Lythia'l never cried. She didn't so much as sniffle, while Jade had full out bawled during the ending of Armageddon—a movie that had little to no logic, and it wasn't as if Lythia'l knew all that much about science anyway. Now Lythia'l batted away the tears that had stained her cheek with some disdain, and she tried again, putting it back around her neck.

And again, it was like a wave, and she felt sorrow and regret and it pummelled her in her very flat, toned stomach, but it wouldn't be toned much longer if she didn't watch what she was eating, and Oh what if she got fat, she should never have eaten those donuts and she was just so stupid, stupid, stupid for going back on her diet again, and she was guilty because she should feel very guilty, and she was angry and sad and—

She threw the pendant off again. Was this was what a teenager was being like? The human kind. Everything she ever felt was multiplied tenfold, and it was trying to sort what she was feeling with what would make sense, and it was a bit of a jumble, to put it very, very lightly. And she'd read about this. She knew the soul wouldn't exactly be a perfect fit. She and Jade were very different, and she supposed it was a bit more traumatic than slowly having the soul drained from her, she'd ripped it out all at once.

"There, there," She said uncertainly, petting the damn glowing thing like Jade might a cat to calm it down. "I know you've been traumatized but would you refrain from making me psychotic?" She didn't get an answer—of course she didn't, how very foolish that would be, and she made a tut-tut-tut sound with her mouth as she tapped her tongue.

Well, this wasn't going the way she'd planned it. But this was ridiculous. This soul was hers now, and alright, it was like trying two incongruous shapes together, but it wasn't impossible. Of course it wouldn't be. After all, Kathy hadn't been made crazy by her attempt to take on a soul—right? Not that Mok'Tagars ever _needed_ them really, but just because it _hadn't_ been done often—successfully—didn't mean it _shouldn't_. Again, simple logic.

She glared at the amulet. It just needed to behave now. Little by little, that's all she needed. She fit it back over her neck.

 _Shouldn'thavedonethat—guilty so guilty, stupid, stupid,_ PUT IT BACK _, ugly, fat, not right._

She took it off again, her fingers trembling. Fingers trembling, what was _that_ all about. And it wasn't, wasn't like Jade's voice was speaking in her head—thankfully. But it was more like Lythia'l's thoughts all went topsy turvy, all the things she shouldn't care about, shouldn't be thinking about, thought about regularly but not to that extent got supercharged, like it was an overdose.

She was beginning to understand why the Mok'Tagars had instituted drawn-out ritual that didn't just shove it at her all at once. Well, that was fine. It would just take her a little while then, but she wouldn't complain. If anyone could handle it, it was her, and she had all the time in the world, really.

Besides, maybe just flicking out the soul when she saw the Mok'Tagars near would solve her problem, although she doubted it was that easy. No, she'd just have to get used to the amulet then. Couldn't be any harder than hearing the Recitation of the Lower, Higher, Dry Lands and River Flats in the middle of each council meeting.

Of all the things she'd had to accomplish in her lifetime, and the many more that were sure to come, how hard could this possibly be?

Hard. Not impossibly so, but unbearably was a better term, ridiculously annoying. She'd made her way to Las Vegas to see the lights and manage some partying, but even a few sustained minutes of having the soul around her neck was a strenuous exercise at best. And, she had to hide her well-developed cleavage because she was so paranoid everyone could just see how brightly glowing it was. Not her breasts, the necklace. It was shining and attention grabbing and out of place. So when she was wearing it she had to tuck it under a scarf, even though it wasn't even that cold, she'd have to pick out more clothes because she hadn't brought many with her in her hurry to escape. Well, not escape. It wasn't as if she was running like a criminal, even if technically, she had stolen something that didn't belong to her, and alright, she didn't want to deal with a pissed off Slayer-Vampire no matter how broken her arms were, but that was done and she was not risking popping back into her apartment. She'd gone through all this work, she wasn't about to undo it all.

There wasn't a single chance of _that_ happening. She'd bought her way into a hotel room at a Casino, and oh the fun she was going to have. Gambling, drinking, partying, _men_ , all in one spot. And yes, she'd bore of it, but then she could just move on if she wanted to, with not a single thing to hold her back, and she didn't feel an iota of guilt towards it.

Until she put on that stupid necklace. She had to get through the first couple of minutes. It was always a ridiculous, exaggerated wave of emotions, as everything she had been thinking or wanting had to be fit to the soul as it did its best to fill in the gaps. Not that it did a very hasty nor passive job of that, and she just had to sit there, bemoaning how she'd chipped a nail and now she had to either scrub them all clear or let it go, but even a small thing such as that was distracting, and how many pet peeves did Jade have? And no, she shouldn't just leave things around for the maids to deal with, pick up her shoes from where she dropped the muddy things at the door, and apologize for spilling alcohol on the carpet.

Alcohol, as if she'd even managed to drink much of it. She thought better of it before she'd even had a few sips, seeing as she really didn't want to know how the soul mixed in with all that, and she figured she probably shouldn't risk it. Annoying, but responsible, and exactly how she had lived her life back in her realm. Albeit, no, not exactly. She wouldn't be wearing such bright colors and she wouldn't be worrying about burning her hair as she curled it. She wouldn't be curling her hair at all because it was customary to either cut it completely off or pull it back very tightly, and it certainly would never get as long as she had let it grow now.

She sat on the edge of her bed for quite a while, putting the pendant on and off for as long as she could manage. To the higher reaches and back, how did humans manage with all this pesky baggage all the time? The emotions she could handle—she _did_ feel them just fine on her own, but there was an overdrive here, and so many rules. And the most resounding, _worst_ part of it was each time she held Jade's soul in her hands she knew that _sheneededtogiveitback_ , and all the guilt she carefully put away into the Do-not-need box was unlocked and dumped all over the place. And that was, without a doubt, what fueled her most to tear the necklace off again.

Then, she could think clearly. Remember that she didn't have to feel sorry, not one bit. That it was a waste of time to mourn taking the soul of someone who was only going to live seventy years more or so. Alright, that was ignoring the whole sudden immortality getup, but it was easier that way. It wasn't like Jade was _supposed_ to live forever. And besides, it was part of the vampire package. Forever life, no having to worry about mortal wounds, or breathing, or drinking—except for blood of course—super strength, and not having to worry about dying again unless it was by beheading/sun/fire/staking, and really, that was a much shorter list than the normal one humans had to worry about. So just because Jade wanted to be an exception, Lyth shouldn't be the one to blame because she was just putting things the way they were supposed to be. Vampires didn't have souls. Lyth needed one, and she'd been ever so patient, and she _deserved_ it. Deserved freedom, just like any teenager trying to get away from thousands of years of tradition. So she didn't feel guilt for her very necessary actions, not at all.

Until the amulet was around her neck. And it was unbearable. And she'd borne and bared quite a lot of things, but this was worse. This was _conscience_ , and what was she supposed to do with one of those? How did anyone get anything done with this little voice in the back of their head telling them that everything they were doing was wrong? It was distracting, and distracting and distracting and annoying and it was driving her crazy.

So she folded the pendant into her purse and went out to have some fun. And she didn't pull out the necklace for at least an hour. And then it was in her hands again. And it wasn't like she was a glutton for punishment. She really did just want to flirt with the Adonis-like man who was drinking at the bar, but the soul had its own weight, and it kept tugging at her, like a bet. Lythia'l didn't give up. She was stubborn and tenacious and anything she was told she wouldn't have been able to do she'd done anyway. It'd taken years, but she always did. Nothing had stopped her, but now she was being defeated by a little shining stone, and it was just _Jade_ , and she was 1139 and she'd worked so hard to get this soul, it was going to do its job too.

So she put it around her neck again. And she walked confidently up to the man slung across the bar, and she was going to _flirt_ and not be crazy, except his hair wasn't blonde enough, and his eyes were _brown_ , and he wore a white coat, not a black one, and, and, and… And he was perfectly Lythia'l's type. He even had an adorable _chin dimple_ , and okay, his hair was golden, and chin length, and he was probably a surfer, and he was definitely tanned, from what she could see beneath the clothes he wore, which at the same time too many and not enough.

And when he pursed his lips in a welcoming smirk, she all but turned and fled, all sorts of doubts rising up, the _he couldn't have possibly meant me_ , _he's not my type, he_ _ **IS**_ _my type,_ but it was wrong. Her stomach fell like jelly as she approached him, and she was never, _never_ this nervous when flirting, she treated herself like a Goddess, and all should be lucky to have her, which was true enough. She was over a thousand years old, and she was gorgeous, who wouldn't be that lucky? But even now her confidence was over-surged with doubt, doubt that she was enough, doubt that she was worthy, and an overwhelming guilt as she sat in the empty stool next to the man and smiled at him, one that was a bit too nervous and not seductive at all.

"This seat wasn't taken?" She asked, as if she cared, she had no qualms about pushing someone out of the way to get what she wanted, or at least she normally did. Now she was worried about the prospect of a beautiful woman coming back to claim her Adonis, and Lythia'l was sitting stupidly in her spot. Or perhaps he hadn't even wanted her to sit there, he just had an empty seat and she was so presumptuously—

"Not until now," He said, in such a deep, husky voice that was all the perfect shades of provocative and alluring, the kind that could really melt her insides, except she felt a surge of disappointment. _He doesn't have an accent_. And that'd never bothered her before, who cared about accents when Lythia'l's first language wasn't even English, although of course she'd taken to it so naturally, as she did most things, that no-one could even tell anymore. And it wasn't that he didn't have _a_ accent, it was that he didn't have the one she wanted. The cockney, tantalizingly _British_ accent that would have soaked right through her sexy, laced underwear, that she'd worn for an occasion such as this, for she was absolutely looking to populate her hotel room with someone, and the man before her fit the bill.

Except he didn't, and the thought of having sex with someone she didn't love was suddenly such a resounding _No_ that it made Lythia'l cringe. She'd known Jade was somewhat against fun, and things that were sure not to last, but she hadn't realised Jade was such a nauseating romantic who was as prudish as a non-virgin could be. If she'd known she'd get such strong protest each time she wanted to have sex with a stranger then she—

She what? Wouldn't have taken the soul? That was ridiculous. Souls didn't matter that much. Just because this conscience was a bit too particular for her didn't mean that she could afford to get picky. She didn't need to find the missing piece that fit right, she'd just needed her freedom. And this was it. And ha, she was not giving it back just because it wasn't perfect. Even though she'd just destroyed her friend for something she could barely use.

No, Jade wasn't her friend. She was a means to an end, and it was just logical. Lythia'l had helped get Jade get out of her little depression rut, and so this was just taking what she was owed, really. Even if it could be said that Spike had been the one who really made little Jade happy again, and now Lythia'l had just taken that from her forever. But… from what Lythia'l had figured, it was just one-way mooning anyway. Jade was just along for the ride, and Spike let her follow about like those little furried—puppies, that was it—followed her around like a puppy. And that wasn't healthy one bit. So Lythia'l had done her a favor. Done her a favor, appearing as Spike, telling Jade that he loved her, just to divert her focus from her neck and rip off the necklace. A favor, leaving her feeling stupid, betrayed and alone.

This self-deprecation was new and utterly deplorable. How anyone managed like this, she had no idea. She was beginning to realise why Jade had not an inkling of fun in her. Was starting to make sense, now. And was starting to annoy her nearly to tears.

"Can I get you a drink?" The slight irritation in his smooth tone made Lythia'l think this wasn't the first time he'd said something to her, and she hadn't been listening, her fingers dragging across the space below her jugular, where the soul hung on her caramel colored skin, covered of course, by her dress, which was far too lacking on cleavage, yet the man was still looking interested in her anyway. Which was good, and bad at the same time, and she should really just tear off the soul and do this part herself: she knew all the steps. At least she had, before this uninvited self-doubt had come in.

"N-Yes," She'd passed her tongue across her lips, frowning at her slip, and after another calculating look at her from the man, the 'is she hot enough to be allowed to be insane' the man'd turned to the counter, asking for a drink.

"What's your name?" She found herself asking, although she'd never been that interested in names before—why should she care when she only had one goal in mind, and that was _definitely not_ going home to meet his parents. And although courting in his realm was so different from her own—mainly in the outstanding contrast that there _was_ nothing like dating in her dimension. No casual sex either. No, at the turn of their second millennium they were told to find a suitable mate, and if it took a couple centuries, one could be assigned, or patience was just as accepted. They did, after all, live for thousands of years, and they weren't in the same hurry as the short-lived mortals were. And there, it was all very perfunctory and organized, and very civil, until there weren't enough potential mates within the clan, and one had to start looking _out of_ clan which involved all sorts of politics that were no less tedious and drawn-out than anything else in the Mok'Tagar society.

Yes, she much preferred the humans' ways to do things, at least in regards to sex and partying. And although Kathy had begun to blend in a little, she'd still taken to this realm in order to do _more schooling_ , which was something that Lythia'l couldn't really fathom, the same way Kathy had wrinkled her nose up when Lythia'l had asked more about social gatherings than education. But Kathy had been dragged back, the humans and all their rules and regimens just a memory that she would have to reflect on for the rest of her long life, while Lythia'l could finally live out her days here, unafraid of being dragged back.

"George," The man answered, and though it was a perfectly sensible name, Lythia'l found it was missing that edge.

"Lyth," She replied, slipping the nickname that Jade had given her without even a twinge of guilt. At least she tried to. And they'd segued into boring smalltalk that she somehow found comforting, just talking about boring things, and not rushing anything. But she _wanted_ to rush. Wanted to live, now that she didn't have to twiddle her thumbs. She could explore the whole world now, and she should be doing so, not just sitting at the bar with an ordinarily named 'George', she should have had him in her bed by now. So with an invitation that was non-subtle, the blunt, straightforward language she was used to, she invited him for sex. She'd taken the necklace off in their conversation a few times, to relax and get her head back in the game, and she slipped it now in her purse so she wouldn't be interrupted, nothing to distract her from his wandering hands and her equally curious ones as they left the bar and back towards her room. She'd done this so many times before, and it was no different, except she wasn't trying to worm them back into her apartment, hoping she wouldn't run into them again. She'd move on from Las Vegas soon enough, and she'd never have to see this handsome lug again, not have to worry about a thing.

And his mouth was on hers and they broke open her door more than actually turned the knob, and she could feel his heartbeat beating in that handsome chest, and she deserved this, this was a well earned prize, complete with the pendant in her purse. She'd earned it all, so she should enjoy herself as he pushed her onto the bed and she fell willingly, and her fingers were in the stranger's soft hair, and she wouldn't be focused on anything else—and then the purse slipped from the bed onto the floor, and it wasn't within hands reach anymore, and though his lips were pressed to her skin, sucking delectably at her neck and his hands were lifting up her dress, paranoia sank in. And she wasn't the kind to get swept away in _someone else's pleasure_ _,_ for she was more important, thank you very much, so she firmly pushed him back and reached for her pendant. She realised her mistake as her fingers found the stone that carried the soul first, and not the less potent string. But she was already reaching, and she pulled it up, even as her companion had grumbled impatiently and continued peppering kisses along her bare shoulder that were hasty and self-serving, rather than affectionate, and he hadn't released his hold on her waist.

And she was suddenly very, very ashamed. Disgusted. He wasn't— _right._ He was too warm, and he was too unfamiliar and he was too devoted to his own pleasure instead of hers, and he had _no right to touch her_ because she was better than him but undeserving at the same time. His hair was too long and it wasn't white, and this _WASN'T SPIKE_ and how dare she, and in her attempt to scramble away as he was leisurely but slowly pulling her to him, she panicked and elbowed him in the nose. That shattered the mood, somewhat. He released her like she was a hot poker, clutching at his nose, which of course had started bleeding. He was an ordinary human and she was a Mok'Tagar and he was too weak for her, and he half rolled off the bed, embarrassed and angry.

And her fingers were still around the pendant, and she could have dropped it and tried to rectify this whole thing.

"What, are you crazy?" He asked, muffled by the hand over his face. "Just because you're hot—" And he _was_ see-through and predictable, as she had glimpsed on his face, and _not all men_ were like that, some men were kinder, understanding, even when they were angry, and the eyes that blazed back at her would be blue and not brown, and they wouldn't care about a broken nose, after a snappish comment, they'd get over themselves.

"You can leave," Lythia'l said, in her voice of a monarch, and he didn't argue, picking his slightly ruffled self up and slamming the door behind him, and he was gone, and she was relieved. And she felt dirty where he'd touched her, even though they hadn't gotten very far and _that_ should have displeased her more than anything, all this pent up sexual energy that had no release, no release because he'd just been too— _not Spike_ for her. And wasn't that a goddamn pin in the balloon or some other human expression because her mind was rattled and she was emotionally exhausted as she held the soul in her fingers, to her chest and let herself bathe in her frustrations.

Lythia'l wasn't a coward. She wasn't going to falter before this stupid little necklace. She'd fight it back, but it was such a tiring experience, and her fighting spirit threatened to crumble each time she put the soul back on, because it wasn't the _soul_ she should be fighting, but she was anyway. She didn't _want_ to care about right and wrong, she thought it was a waste of time, she knew what she knew was right, and so _little_ wrongs shouldn't matter. Having hot, dirty sex with a stranger shouldn't be a wrong at all, but she still cringed at the thought of him touching her, undressing, and it was so ridiculously unfair, because it was _her choice_ to do those things, not Jade's.

So, with the amulet clutched in her hands, she was determined to try again, and again, until it bent to her will. Because it had to. There was no way she'd spend the next hundred years trying to solve this, she didn't need that much time. She was stronger than this soul, and she'd prove it.

Her next attempts didn't go much better. Handsome, incredibly handsome men that saw her as gorgeous—which she _was_ , but the moment she touched the Soul, she'd be filled with guilt or crippling self-doubt, or if she was extremely unfortunate, a wild dose of both. Jade was ruining her with her insecurities and her loyalty to Spike. But she couldn't leave the necklace far behind, she was sure the Mok'Tagar would track her again, they'd be close. They always seemed to find her, even if they couldn't recognize her with skin on her face, if she kept her natural blue eyes at bay and a soul within her then they wouldn't be able to detect her. But they'd always be looking. So she had to find a balance, and it was irritatingly trying. To keep the necklace on her and avoid the Seekers, and to not go mental from having the pendant on too long.

She never thought it would be this difficult. She didn't expect to deal with all of this baggage. And she didn't think she deserved it. She wondered if all consciences were so annoying. Well, her movements weren't restricted now. Perhaps she could buy a soul from the black market, although it was rather sketchy to do so. She had no idea what she'd end up with. At least she had a varying idea of what Jade was like, although she realised now that there was far, far too much going on in the background. All humans couldn't possibly be like this, could it? Perhaps she'd go for an older, relaxed lady next. Or even an older gentleman, someone who was blunt and a little unsavory, and as wily as her. That'd work better.

And then she could return this _where-it-belonged_ , and she wondered how much of her thoughts had been swayed by the soul around her neck and she took it off again. That was the problem. It made it hard to think, hard to focus. Hard to separate the thoughts that were hers and those that were tainted by the conscience.

She ran her fingers through her curls as she went to the mirror, looking at herself. Gorgeous. Another dress on her that shined and sparkled and ended halfway down her thigh. Tight to her body, and though it was high on the front—a necessary change to keep the soul hidden, her back was exposed, smooth, silky skin—an unnecessary layer for her people, but one she had grown into quite beautifully. She highlighted all the best features of her face, her lips succulent, a bright red. Her eyes were such a dark, captivating brown. Though she'd kept some of her glamour appearance-changing rings, she hadn't used any. She was a knock-out on her own. And she was doubly determined to net someone this evening, after her debacle with whatever-his-name-was the previous. And she turned to step out into the hallway that led to the club when she tucked the necklace into her clutch purse, her fingers tracing the edge of the gem. A _this is wrong_ feeling jutted into her as she stepped back into the fray, so determined to be caught that evening, to get some satisfaction and sexual relief, and she'd manage it _with the soul_ because she was stronger than it, and so just before she passed the bouncers and joined the dancing, she passed the necklace back around her neck, where it belonged now.

And she chattered, and danced, and drank, but hesitated in the face of the handsome and stunning. She somewhat grudgingly settled with a group of young women who were celebrating a bachelorette party, although one of them kept looking at her, and she noted something odd about the intensity on the woman's face when a man sidled up to her during a song and held out a drink. And he was ordinary. He was taller than her, but certainly no built Hercules, and his hair wasn't blonde—bleached or otherwise—and he seemed anxious, uncertain, and he only had one eye. And he was flirting with her, or at least trying to, in an endearingly inadequate way.

"H-hi," He said, as loud as he could over the din. "I saw you, and I just… couldn't look away."

"I don't blame you," Lythia'l returned, disinterested. At least, she thought she was. She was planning on roping the ones she _wanted_ , she didn't have to go for second best. But there was something about him that wasn't intimidating in the least, relaxing. "Now, how did you get that intriguing eye-patch?" She wasn't the one to be demure or tactful. If it was from cancer or something, well, call her shallow, but she wasn't going near that. The last thing she needed was to grip him too tightly during sex and break him. She might not have—alright, past tense was needed, she used to not have one—a soul, but that didn't mean she went around killing things. She wasn't the uncivilized vampires. And the thought of him just crumpling in bed made her uneasy, to say the least. And she wasn't quite sure why she was still able to think of sleeping with him without having a single twinge to knock him away and put him down hard. Her little conscience hadn't kicked in yet. If anything, it seemed intrigued by the little amateur act.

Maybe that meant she beat it. Or at least, it wasn't objecting to her right now. Well, that made this man a lot more appealing—even if he wasn't her type, his goofy, crooked smile and uncertain shoulder shrug was mostly amusing. Testing her soul, she reached out and snaked him closer to her, nearly jarring him enough to spill the drinks in his hand. It was still silent, ready, waiting. She smiled in slight triumph. "Looks like I'm glad you came by," She said, something that couldn't possibly have the same meaning for him as it did for her.

"G-great," He stammered. "I'm… Xa—Alexander." And she wasn't interested in his name at all, but delighted in her quieted conscience as she pulled him in nearer, and thought she might not have to spend the night alone after all.

He seemed to bring up the drinks belatedly, as if he'd been so stunned he'd forgotten he'd brought them over.

"Yeah," He said, as he danced with her a bit awkwardly, "I saw you, and I thought, wow. She could use a drink. I mean, not that you need one. Appreciate one, maybe?" He was stammering again, and Lythia'l didn't stifle her laugh, relinquishing her hold on him somewhat so she could swipe one of the glasses from his hand and downed it easily, licking her lips at the pungent taste. That was another thing her people didn't have: alcohol. She was fortunate to acclimatize to it so easily when all they had were glowing liquid refreshments that didn't play with cognitive functions at all, it mainly kept the throat from getting too dry and provided nutrients. Something with a practical use, not something to promote dizziness and odd reaction. She remembered belatedly that alcohol and her new soul likely didn't mix, and she waited with trepidation, but still nothing. For whatever reason, contact with the one-eyed man didn't make her antsy or uneasy, and Lythia'l accepted it smugly.

Maybe Jade's soul was finally learning its place, the most preferable explanation, or maybe she just had a thing for stammering one-eyed men, which was an odd but not completely ridiculous fetish. Either way, Lythia'l accepted it happily, even if the man—Alexander he said he was?—wouldn't have been her first choice. Or even her top ten.

"You're a little inept, aren't you?" She couldn't help but say, the words rolling off her tongue as her opinions often did. And she never apologized for her bluntness—speaking her mind had never been a problem for her. It was encouraged for the first Millennium of her life, and she was told to do it as eloquently and as verbose as possible, although she'd toned down somewhat since she moved here. All the people she talked to were lucky they were only getting paragraphs at a time from her and not more. Still, she'd shortened it somewhat. Now she was even more precise, and her brusque words were no exception. Except—this time she felt guilty, guilty at the wince telegraphed on his face. She'd hurt his feelings. It wasn't as if she had the luxury of acting with a full deck lately, and she had no reason to—"Oh, that was rude," she said, by way of apology, but why was _she_ apologizing. She wasn't one to go around and spare feelings, _no_ that was not her, and she frowned, before realising it was her soul again, reasserting itself. So it wasn't silent at all, just lingering. Prodding at her behavior, and what right did it have?

But she could ignore it, still. It was just a little twinge in the back of her head, and besides, she was about to make it up to the man, there was little doubt of that. "Whatever. You want to go to my room?" And she held her breath, and she could feel that build up in her soul again, uncertainty. Oh, it didn't agree with Lythia'l, did it? Well, she didn't much care, and the protests weren't resounding anyway. It could be ignored. She would ignore it.

The man hesitated, stammering before ending with a less than assertive, "Yes. Sure." Lythia'l tried not to roll her eyes. Not the drooling she was expecting, but that was probably best. Too much would be repugnant, so she shrugged, passing the drinks off to a waitress with a tray and tugged him through the crowd. She caught eyes with one of the women from the bachelorette party, who looked at her with probing green eyes. Later, if she saw her again, Lythia'l'd have a talk with her, seeing as there was something out-of-place about her, and Lythia'l didn't like the way she stared. Still, the woman was forgotten as she flashed her free wrist at the bouncers, the purple band there, and she and the man stepped out into the hallway, where it was far quieter and less crowded. She could see a couple up ahead, entangled romantically as they crashed into a room and kicked the door behind them, and she felt a surge of jealousy. Well, not for long. None of this terrible, forced chastity.

They'd barely gone around the corner when she decided to test the battlefield. The man's steps had noticeably slowed, as if he was losing interest, or heart in it—and _how was that_ possible. If anything, he should be more excited with each step, and she was a little insulted that he wasn't. What was wrong with her? Was she not as pretty as she thought she was? And _why was she so_ self-conscious all the time. Alright, she knew the answer to that, but it was annoying, so annoying, and she was done.

She grabbed the man by his arm, and pushed him to the wall. He wasn't as strong as she was—he _was_ only a human after all, but he did try to resist, even though he couldn't do much. And why was he resisting, and why did _she_ suddenly feel a lump of self-loathing when she pushed him to the wall, because it was just passion, really, but she felt so terribly about cornering him to the wall it didn't feel sexy at all. What a floppy dead fish of a killer moment, but she could _ignore this_ , she was in control here, so she dropped one of her hands from securing him and tilted up his head instead. He looked uncomfortable, but there was that frozen uncertainty in his eye, that bordered on interested, bordered on wanting. He was doing his best to resist her, but he couldn't completely, and so she didn't need to feel bad about kissing him then, stepping up onto her tiptoes so they were nearly even in height, and her mouth sucked at his, firm and triumphant. He was warm, and surprisingly gratifying. She was _in control here_ , she didn't need to listen to the voice needling at her.

But she heard it in full force anyway, guilt and self-disgust reigning down on her, a _NOT HIM_ , _not right_ , a big resounding NO that was so strong it twisted her stomach and she leaned herself back off of him, gasping. Never mind the fact that he'd responded, if only slightly, her soul was shouting at her like she'd _forced him_ , made him, and just that it wasn't right, wasn't Spike, and it was so loud and so gripping. And it wasn't even words, just feelings that aimed to mangle and twist her.

And his lips were smeared with her shiny lipstick, and was all sorts of uncomfortable, his expression twisted between desire and discomposure, and she still had him there, caged, but she couldn't move back into it. Her soul was so far from accepting now, she wondered why it had been silent until now.

"I mean… I really don't think that…" He was stammering out some response now, sounding increasingly agitated and in a hurry to soothe her, and she was only half listening. Something was wrong, something was off, and she hadn't noticed until now because of this blasted soul that was always turning her topsy turvy anyway. How was she even supposed to know what _normal_ was when she had this around her neck.

And then she saw them, rather than heard them. Vampires. Fast, quick things. Quiet, when they wanted to be, and these ones wanted to be. And she could see it in both of their eyes, the souls radiating through them. Both of them had what they weren't supposed to anymore, but all that mattered then was Spike, standing before her. And _she wanted to loathe_ him, because he was trying to throw a wrench into everything but _he'd tracked her_ here? He'd gone after her? She hadn't suspected that it would be him. Maybe Jade, out of revenge. She'd expected Spike to run back to his lover, Buffy. Hadn't expected to see him. Hadn't wanted to. But at the same time, she felt her blood warm, her breath grow erratic.

She'd always had a certain amount of dislike for Spike, although thankfully little contact. She'd noted his attractiveness of course, but he hadn't extended the same courtesy to her, acting in disinterest. And she didn't think he would ever see anything in Jade. The look in his eyes had been guilt when he'd been so willing to leave Jade on Lythia'l's doorstep. Part of Lythia'l had doubted he'd even bother to return. But she'd been… wrong, hadn't she? The intensity in his expression now, it was breathtaking, the anger that blazed through him. He was frightening, the passion, the fury in those blue eyes, so of course she'd grabbed the one-eyed man as a barrier to protect herself. To keep her from throwing herself those last steps towards him.

And she shouldn't want him, but she was no stranger to lust, and she'd accepted that he was attractive, but now it was so impossibly hard to ignore, and while Jade's soul had drawn her back from all the men that Lythia'l had desired, it was doing everything it could to pull her towards Spike.

 _Thisisright_ , it told her, treacherously, begging, pleading. This is right. _PUT IT BACK_. But she couldn't, oh she couldn't. This was Spike, who might have been cut near from the same cloth as Lythia'l, mouthy and carefree, but he was trying to stop her, and that made him an enemy. **THE ENEMY** _ **,**_ she reminded herself, but she couldn't believe it, not with any confidence. He stared at her with such desperation, such wanting, it didn't seem like the same Spike at all. This one was forlorn and vehement and he glared at her with such vicious loathing that she nearly shivered at it, but glares had never overwhelmed her before. But this was _Spike_ and that mattered to her, so much more than it should.

And when he spoke, he drilled her with such precise remarks, so close to the heart of it all, and _how did he know_ , how did he know more than Lythia'l did about what this soul was doing to her. And she'd done all the research. She _knew_ what a soul was, damn the reaches, it was just morality. And it could be ignored. It _was_ ignored, every day, by ordinary people. Each time wars were fought, each time someone murdered or stole. It _could_ be neglected, and she could do it.

But everything he said struck her hard to the core. She of course hadn't had the amulet on her while she was sleeping, afraid of how it might affect her—so in fact, she'd barely even slept since she'd gotten it. And the thought of seeing Spike in her dreams both excited and horrified her. And seeing him everywhere—she ought to scoff. She could teleport. She could be anywhere faster than he could. Go anywhere she wanted. If he found her, she'd skip away, like she was about to do now, and it would be no trouble. She didn't have to worry about him sending her into another dimension, although the thought of having someone _else_ on her tail for the rest of eternity bothered her. Not again, when she'd just made it so she'd evade one set of would-be captors, to exchange it for another. But Spike was lacking by comparison. He had no magic. He could walk or drive or even fly to her and she'd always be one step ahead.

The thought shouldn't sadden her, but her thoughts were morose. She should take the pendant off so it didn't corrupt her thoughts, but she didn't want to give the vampires an opening, no matter how slight. No, it had to stay where it was. _Where it didn't belong_.

Where she would keep it anyway.


	12. Chapter 12

**12**

Every black coat, that was far too close to the truth. How many times had she wanted to see Spike already, had the flicker of his colors caught her eye, although the hair wouldn't be blonde enough and the coat wouldn't be long enough and she'd turn away, equal parts relieved and disappointed. He _knew_ Jade, and it wasn't fair. Knew more about this soul then she did. But he'd overestimated one thing: his control over her. Lythia'l was the one holding the strings here. So she teleported away, unscathed and free.

She should have felt triumphant, but the moment she reappeared, up on a different floor, she collapsed onto her knees, heaving back a sob that should never have been there in the first place. She. Didn't. Cry. Shouldn't be. She tore off the necklace and stuffed it back into her purse, and that helped. Helped, but the guilt hadn't subsided, not completely. The desperation in Spike's eyes—it must be pure devastation now. But that wasn't her problem. Not while the soul was off. She could clear her head, she could think.

She was very good at thinking. Normally. And it was necessary now, because there was a simple question that needed to be answered. How had she been found? Magic, likely. She'd stayed in Las Vegas for a nearly full twenty four hours, and it was obviously too long of a stretch. So she needed to pack up and leave as soon as possible, though it wasn't best to return to her room, not if they knew which one it was. Which meant she had to steal money _again_ , to buy new clothes _again_ , and it was such a pain. Unless…

There were different kinds of seeking magic, one that she was familiar with, and could differentiated between easily enough, if the vampires and their one-eyed bait lingered here or moved on. So she could watch _from a very long distance_ , and see what they chose next. She teleported to the roof, where it was cold and windy and the whole world seemed lit up, neon signs that danced and flashed. Her eyes, in their full demon form, were astute and perceptive, and the building she was in was _wide_ rather than tall, and she looked and looked.

She was impatient, and about to teleport closer, whether it was a intelligent move or not when she saw three figures, like shadows move towards a car. Except they didn't move like humans might, and she teleported down a level, and then another, until she was able to see them more clearly. It was Spike, Angelus—Angel? And Alexander, heading towards a car. She devoted the make and color to memory. That'd help for the next time, she knew what to look for. Unless they were just turning and leaving. That'd be a welcome ending to this soiree, if Spike would just realise that it was hopeless, but Lythia'l knew better, even without the soul around her neck. No. He'd keep looking.

And they were leaving without sticking around, which meant that they knew where she was going next before she did. She growled irately, a low rumbling sound that was a far cry from a Mok'Tagar's full howl, but it was angry all the same. They'd gone to Clarity. She knew the signs. How often had she used the demon, after all? She'd try to find the seekers, see if it was possible to stick her head out of Haven for a day or two, but never more than that, because they'd come for her. And now, they'd used her to find out where Lythia'l was going, and it was a sour betrayal, but not unexpected. Clarity was a demon, after all, and this was her trade. Although Lythia'l was a bit annoyed, she couldn't be surprised. After all, she would have done the same thing. There was no loyalty there, just business. Lythia'l had lived over a thousand years, and Clarity had plenty to sample each time she'd visited, and that was their transaction. There was no bond there. No friendship, not truly. Not like the one she'd grudgingly had with Jade.

The one she'd destroyed forever. But why? Furious, she held up the soul. Looked at it, glared at its glow as vampires' car drove away, and she teleported back into the building, into her room, where she should have felt safe in it now, in this large, empty room, but all she noticed was the shining pendant in her hand.

"It's not like I stole your body," Lythia'l found herself saying aloud. Trying to explain herself? "It's not like I stole your mind, or your memories. I didn't do any of those things. You still have your immortality, I didn't take that either. I didn't _take_ Spike from you, he's just chosen not to go after you, the real you. The you that's living—sort of. How is that my fault? I didn't maim you and kill you. You're still here. You can still live and laugh and experience, just like any vampire. I didn't _do_ anything bad to you, so why do you make me feel like this?" Guilt. She felt guilt even before she touched the soul and let it swarm over her.

"It was just your soul. Not your emotions, or your heart or your thoughts. It's just your wrong and right, your morality, that's all I took. I didn't destroy your chance with Spike, I _didn't_. He was always mooning after that bitch anyway, I probably didn't change anything. In fact, you're a vampire now. A real one. He's probably more used to dealing with that then the souled bit, I did you a fav—" she couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't force it out. She'd been able to natter about the rest, but she wasn't trying to convince the soul—like she could. It wasn't a being that would answer her back. She was trying to convince herself. That she hadn't done anything bad or deplorable. Because while that wouldn't normally bother her, it did a lot more now.

"I didn't think he felt that way about you," She said then, and another _blasted_ sob had found its way into her chest, her voice trembling. "If I'd known—It doesn't matter. I didn't do this to punish you. You're still you, wherever you are. You're probably better now. Freer. Not all sulky. You can do anything you want. You can be more like—me." But Jade never wanted to be like her. She was her own self, even if it was inferior to Lythia'l. And none of this, Lythia'l knew, would ever have convinced Jade. It was why she hadn't asked, of course. Why she had just taken, because it was the only option left to her, and she knew that.

So there was no point now—or even when she'd picked up the necklace and started talking to it like a crazy person, which she was aware of—trying to convince the soul. It wouldn't choose to behave. It couldn't choose, like that. It just had its set of rules, set of impulses. And she could ignore it.

Ten years, a hundred years, a thousand years. She could ignore it. She would learn. It wailed right now. She'd let Spike slip through her fingers, and it sang with remorse, with loss. And she felt the misery slipping into her bones, down into her flesh. She felt defeated, when she knew she shouldn't be. She had patience, after all. Lythia'l, daughter of Arachich, and a member of a clan of the Higher Reaches, she'd gotten anything she'd ever wanted through careful planning and waiting, and this was no different.

She could do anything she wanted, and she would prove it, before this soul tore her to pieces, as it was doing now, wracking her with guilt and anguish. And she was glad no-one could see her like this, how very pathetic she was being, so much she had to touch the amulet down on the blanket so she could think clearly.

And clear should have been _easy_ , because now there was nothing else in her head that didn't belong, it was just her, but why was this terrible guilt still here, and why did she keeping thinking of those desperate blue eyes, the pain in them, the imploring. She should have been upset that she'd let another catch slip through her fingers—and she'd even lowered her standards, and she found she really was disappointed that Alexander hadn't been interested in her at all—and how could he not be? And that grudgingly added to his charm, that he'd slipped away and that he'd wanted to, and he was just an ordinary human, and he'd turned her down, and he'd felt like a triumph. The Soul hadn't resisted, not until she'd tried to kiss him, and it had been what _she_ wanted, but not what she wanted, and it was utterly confusing and he was somehow intriguing, the unremarkable boy that he was, and he was only really made interesting by the fact he'd eluded her. And he _had_ eluded her, and she felt strangely disappointed, among a whole mess of things. And she kicked her shoes off, watching them fly across the room, thankful for the satisfaction when one of her heels hit a picture frame and broke it and the glass, and she expected to feel better, but there was that guilt again. And she was just lying there now, limp and confused when there was a very familiar poof of teleportation, and she was no longer alone.

A woman stood in the middle of her room, looking slightly confused as she looked around, a frown on her face as she twirled, and then her eyebrows raised and her eyes lit up as she turned to see Lythia'l, half-crumpled on the bed. And she smiled, and she was very familiar, and Lythia'l recognized her from the bachelorette group, the one who had kept staring at her.

"Oh, there you are again! It's me, Julilon, your fairy Godmother," the woman smiled brightly. She was of Indian descent, and her hair was pulled back in a half-knot, some curls tumbling down a shoulder, and her green eyes were quite bright, and her expression sympathetic as well as excited. "Come to take your sorrows away."

Feeling a little embarrassed by the mess she must look like—her make-up _ruined_ , and this ghastly red-nose from the sniffles, the definition of 'ugly cry', she was a bit skeptical, her voice tremoring with disdain. "This isn't Cinderella." And of course, she knew of Cinderella, Jade's obsession with Disney had led to Lythia'l seeing many a clip of the animated movies, and she couldn't feign ignorance even if she wanted to. Still, she wasn't ignorant either, and the woman before her was no Godmother. In fact, she wasn't even a woman at all, she was a Vengeance demon, and though Lythia'l had clued in on that a bit slower than she would have liked, her research paid off as it often did. "And aren't you vengeance types supposed to be a bit more subtle? I hardly think teleporting into someone's room really constitutes as fitting in."

The woman ignored her as she swept towards the bed to sit beside Lythia'l, and Lythia'l shuffled further away subconsciously. She was a bit wary of ancient demons, as she should be, although Lythia'l wouldn't say that the Vengeance demon was altogether _stronger_ than her, no, she was far too confident for that, still. She didn't know the demon's purpose, and it made her careful.

"Well, some like to be sneaky, but we're not all the same, you know," Julilon said, stretching out on the bed. "These are nice sheets. Soft. The women I'm with, well there wasn't enough beds, so I was relegated to the floor." She pouted. "Just unfair, if you ask me."

Lythia'l narrowed her eyes. "So you're the vengeance demon of jilted lovers? How original."

Julilon made a tsking sound with her teeth. "No, no, I'm _very_ original. No-one wants to be doing the same. Halfrek took _all_ the scorned children, a bit greedy of her really, but after she went down, Adora took her place. And it was Althelope who took over for scorned women— _not_ me. No, I wanted to be completely new and different, and I _am_. I chose women too, but not the same. I don't exactly have a name for it, but all the girls who are left out of the circle. Who aren't quite the Class A act, aren't part of the IT crowd, you know what I mean?"

"And losing rapid interest in it," Lythia'l muttered, wondering why the demon was _here_ , and not doing something she was so invigorated about instead. There'd been comparisons to Mok'Tagars and Vengeance Demons before, and it struck up a defensive rivalry for Lythia'l.

"Well, anyway. The sister of the groom is at this doe party, but she's just being absolutely _ragged_ on by the Bride. Screamed at, _hit_. I mean, how is that fair, just because she doesn't have any backup or anyone who wants her there, so I come to the rescue." She smiled, showing off her bright teeth.

"And she wishes something and you make it come true," Lythia'l said dully. "Yes, I know the Vengeance demon ritual. It's very straight forward and humdrum."

Julilon pouted. "Well it _would_ be. But she hasn't wished for a _single thing_ , and I've been hanging around with them for over a day—long weekend getaway, you see—and I was bored, and you've been catching my attention all night, you've just been positively _reeking_ of wrong-doing, and you seem like you needed some Vengeance. Or Justice. You know, some call it the latter."

Lythia'l frowned, sniffing herself subtly to make sure she didn't _actually_ reek of anything, and then she glared back at the presumptuous demon. "Well, I haven't been—" Her eyes flickered to where the soul had been among the blankets. Oh. Of _course_. Always had to make a scene. Jade'd deny it, but apparently she had a flare for the dramatic, one that a Vengeance demon of all things could pick up. Still. It couldn't be all bad. She knew this part. She'd make a wish, and Julilon would make it come true. So she _was_ good for something, how grand. "I see," She said aloud, not trying to hide her excitement. "Well in that case, I wish—" And then she had a finger over her mouth, pressed vertically to her lips, and perhaps that was a good thing, because Lythia'l hadn't quite fleshed out her thoughts, although she irately shook her head to free herself of the Vengeance demon's unwanted touch.

"Sorry," Julilon said with contrition that was too bright. "I see now that you're not quite… needing the vengeance. I actually came for that." And she shrugged her shoulders in direction of the necklace, and Lythia'l snatched it up immediately, protectively. "It's just _crying_ out, and I was trying to ignore it earlier, but my charge is pretty drunk, and she fell asleep, and here I am, waiting for her to wake up again to try another go."

Lythia'l was very careful to pull the pendant by its string and not the soul itself as she clutched it closer to her. "Well it doesn't exactly form words."

Julilon sighed. "I know. I realise that now. And I was really hoping for some easy wish-making. I guess it was a dud."

"Well, the soul's mine." Lythia'l'd put it back on if it meant she could get a wish out of it. Besides, she could control herself long enough to finish a sentence. "So you can still give me that wish."

"It doesn't belong to _you_ ," the demon laughed back. "I can tell, you know. I mean, that's probably why the soul's so upset. That makes you the wronging party, not the wronged one," her eyes widened, and she gave a small laugh, raising up her head and then collapsing it back down on the blankets. "You're safe though. A soul can't really form a wish into words without a mouth."

Lythia'l frowned, furious. "Well, the rest of her is nowhere near, so don't think you can hang around for her to give you something to do." She held the rope tightly in her grip, careful not to let the soul near her. She could control it, she _would_ control it—but just in case. She couldn't risk it.

"You know, you were feeling pretty tormented a minute ago," Julilon commented, looking at her calculatingly. "But, I mean. Just because a bully feels bad doesn't mean they get a wish too. I'm very particular, you know."

"It was more than a minute ago," Lythia'l grumbled. The vengeance demon wasn't getting her facts straight. She could only imagine how 'tormented' she'd been with the soul on her, two very different halves conflicting, but she hadn't put on the soul since nearly a half hour before Miss Vengeance had shown up, and so it wasn't a 'minute ago' at all.

Julilon looked up at her. And why was Lythia'l letting her lay on her bed anyway? The Vengeance demon was presumptuous and pushy, and it was high time that she leave—"No it wasn't," Julilon said, regarding her, almost serious. "It was right before I came here. I mean. It had been _really_ bad before, like fireworks, it's amazing no-one else sensed it, humans are so clueless, really. But you were definitely in mourning when I got here. That's why I came." She added brightly. "But it's no use. You don't really deserve it."

Julilon sighed. "Well, another dead end. You know, being a Vengeance demon isn't easy. Everyone has all these pent up feelings, but they never know what to really wish for, and they get all grumpy when it happens. Or they don't listen to prompting well so I'm hanging around for a week trying to get them to say something that starts with 'I wish', and sometimes it has nothing to do with anything, and here's a million bucks in their lap, but no-one really gets punished."

She was talking, and Lythia'l was barely listening. Julilon had accused _her_ of being conflicted. Without the soul! The very idea of it. The only thing that threatened to break her control _was_ that stupid glowing thing, and the thought that it was beginning to taint her thoughts even when she wasn't wearing it was frightening to say the least.

The Vengeance demon looked off-put at Lythia'l's lack of interest, sighing as she pushed herself off of the bed—finally. "You're just as bad. You got what you wish for," she looked to the soul in Lythia'l's fingers. "And you're just moping. Well, good luck with it all. And I kinda hope that that finds its way back to its owner. All that anguish. That'd be a fun wish, don't you think?" And Julilon winked, and then she was gone.

Finally.

 _Lonely_.

Alone, where she wanted to be. And she should have been so disappointed. Hunt that Vengeance demon down and demand a proper wish fulfilled. She'd been wronged enough in her lifetime. And all the things Spike had said to her, well that was enough to make anyone feel upset. She'd have a few wishes for him, that was for sure, although as she tried to think of them, they were too vehement, too cruel. She didn't _really_ want him to walk around with no voice for the rest of his life, or be turned into a sheep. No, her thoughts weren't biting enough, and the soul wasn't even on her. But she began stroking it, unconsciously, then placed it in her palm.

It was quieter now, but it still burned with indignation and sorrow. _It_ deserved a wish. And Lythia'l knew what the wish would have been. Simple. Soul back where it belonged. And maybe—maybe, Lythia'l could have wished for that too. Or that the Mok'Tagar could have left her alone, so she wouldn't have any need for the soul anyway. And it was when that thought crossed her mind, that she hadn't needed the soul, that Spike was right that she was beginning to think that maybe she had been wrong.

But she _couldn't_ be. She deserved it now. It was hers, she'd fought so hard to be free and now she was… _trapped at the hands_ of a demon. And that thought wasn't right either, because it wasn't hers.

This soul really was going to drive her crazy. So she'd do what she'd been doing for the last couple of years, what she'd tried to do her whole life. Keep. Running. She wouldn't let it catch up to her, wouldn't give up, not _now_. So she threw her things in her bag and kept going.

She'd teleported several times, looking forward single-mindedly, before she realised that Clarity would have told them her next location, and that she was going straight into their next destination. And she didn't care. She'd just escape them again, and maybe she'd catch another glimpse of the one-eyed man, and this time, he wouldn't be so willing to resist her, but no, it was all about Spike too, and she didn't want it to be. She deserved to have her own affections, which made her all the more determined to place them on _anyone_ but Spike. So let her think of the man with his crooked smile and stammer, no matter how much her soul resisted, because it was around her neck again, and though she left California behind, she felt it chase her.

But they never caught up with her. Triumph and disappointment. She was triumph, and her soul was disappointment. She wondered how many dratted locations Clarity had given them, because where she chose to go or didn't, they were a breath behind her, because despite her hesitations and obstacles, the demon had led them right. But not right enough. And they'd nearly caught her in Kansas City, but she'd teleported away before they could look her way, and her heart pounded with excitement as well as dread. They'd nearly seen her again, and she realised it was a game. That part of her wanted to be caught, and she _knew whose fault that was_.

It frustrated her that she'd stayed so long, until she was only seconds from them catching sight of her, but now she watched as they sped away. And she didn't see them anymore in her peripherals, hunting, waiting, and they drove so fast and so furiously, and she was elated because they'd finally given up on her. They were gone, at least for now, weren't they? And she was so happy, but not really, because there was still doubt, uncertainty and pain, so she'd hunted down witches in the city and did a tracking spell of her own, and she needed something of who she was tracking, and so she laid the soul within the herbs of the incantation, and found who she was looking for.

Jade. And she was at that little Slayer Base in San Francisco, or near it, and Lythia'l was relieved, because that meant no-one was on her tail, and she was sure that Spike was hurrying back to save his actual lover from death, and Lythia'l hoped that Jade had a lovely little time killing them all, even if pure savagery was a bit uncivilized, but Lythia'l had done what she could. She'd given advice to Spike, and she didn't need to. If he really wanted her back, which was still a surprising admission, then he had to _stop following her_ and go after the real Jade.

But what was the real Jade? Lythia'l knew what she was. She was knowledge and intelligence, and if someone took that and left just her body, well, she wouldn't be the same. And _damn_ this line of thought, but the necklace was around her throat, and she couldn't quite convince herself to take it off. Truth was, she had taken the real Jade. Her conscience was everything to her. Her control. And while Lythia'l had left the love behind, she knew it would have twisted a soulless Jade, as love did to vampires. It would ruin her or spite her. She'd be obsessed or be indifferent, and Lythia'l knew, knew by now that it would be obsession. The obsession that haunted Lythia'l, that she didn't even _want_ , but here it was.

Lythia'l wasn't quite proud of herself anymore, and it seemed she could be blamed quite a bit.

She couldn't carry on like this. It was changing her, not the other way around. She wasn't learning balance, she was learning to live in chaos, and how much of that before she wasn't Lythia'l either.

But maybe it wasn't all that bad. They just assumed Jade would be a bloodthirsty killer, but maybe she wasn't. Maybe she didn't need the soul at all.

And Lythia'l decided she needed to find it out herself—she had a location after all, and the means to get there. It'd take hours; she'd taken so terribly long to come to a decision, but she'd make it.

And she was halfway there before she realised it was the soul again, contorting her mood and making her make these stupid decisions. She had been played by this soul around her neck. But even more than that, she realised she no longer cared. Her curiousity was too great, and her head too muddled, and her guilt too heavy, and she teleported herself, bit by bit, to see what had become of her friend.

And there was destruction, of course. A flare of the dramatic, Lythia'l knew that much. There'd been an odd glamour on the horizon, but she'd poofed through it, and she could see what was being hid. Smoking pieces of metal, fires still lingering, and blood. Lythia'l could smell the acrid stench. Well she was here now. Seen what Jade had done, and perhaps they'd been right to free her. However, her job was done. Still, even at her half-hearted attempt to reassure herself, she knew from the beginning that she wasn't leaving until the job was done, really done. She hadn't seen Jade yet, and she wasn't leaving until she did. Even if it was the smartest thing she could be doing.

She found the group first, and even if it was probably to her best interests to _stay far, far away_ , she approached them with a single-minded determination that would not leave her quaking in fear like some four hundred year old Mok'Tagar. She didn't care if she received indignation from them all, didn't tremble at the thought of discrimination. For once, her and the Soul were perfectly aligned. There was no self-doubt, there was only resolve. She was a woman who got what she wanted.

And when she teleported into the middle of them all, there was a shout, cocking of crossbows, and two very worn and exhausted magic users putting up their hands defensively. She rolled her eyes, letting them flash their natural, vivid hue.

"Not your enemy, obviously," She scoffed, although to be perfectly reasonable—which she was, admittedly, capable of being from time to time—she could understand them being somewhat ruffled. There were just as many of them injured as there were standing. One Slayer was staring at her stump of an arm dazedly, confused. Another was bleeding from her forehead and looked thoroughly unresponsive. And still more laid somewhere among the battleground, she was sure, and though the group had been moving in one direction, resolute, they'd stilled when she'd arrived. They were either looking to flee or looking for Jade, and made the likely wiser decision to stick together, even though it wasn't the best choice for self-preservation. They'd move a lot quicker if they weren't trying to move the wounded, and precious able-bodied Slayers were lifting the infirm, which again, another weakness.

Still, she wasn't here to talk strategy.

"Lythia'l," A familiar voice said. Paler than the last time she saw him, and a few specks of blood on his chin, of which she wasn't quite sure if it were his or not, and she couldn't help but smile at the sight of Alexander again, staring at her with his one eye. "Buffy, this is the Mok'Tagar demon."

"Charmed," continued a short blonde woman who was holding another woman up. Buffy was armed with only a stake—not exactly something that Lythia'l was going to worry about at a long distance, but her companion, a stockier, taller woman who was dressed in black and similarly dark make-up had leveled a crossbow at Lythia'l, while she crushed an obviously broken arm to her stomach. Slayers. So determined to put up a good show when they could barely stand. "Come to see your work?" Her voice was lathered in sarcasm, a scathing, bitter tone, so much that Lythia'l might have flinched under the strength of it if she hadn't grown up in a society that was far used to using tones and words as weapons.

"Not _my_ work," Lythia'l disagreed. "But yes, I did stop by to help. And see old friends," She glanced back at Alexander again. "Hello."

"Great time to pop in and be friendly," Buffy's wounded friend muttered, wincing as she moved her arm again. The blonde spoke something quiet and comforting to settle her down, and Lythia'l centered her focus on the one-eyed man, hoping he would speak. And he did, although it wasn't quite what she had expected.

"You're not welcome here," He answered stiffly, so stubbornly it threw her for a turn. He looked back at her with an intense dislike, as if _she_ were to blame for everything. And some of it, maybe, but it wasn't exactly the reception she was expecting. Or hoping for. A bit more relieve from the one-eyed man would have been nice, and Lythia'l felt strangely disappointed.

"Xander," Another familiar voice sounded, this time being the second vampire who'd come with the earlier hunting party. Angel, or Angelus. Lythia'l had done several readings on notorious vampires, and he'd made some of the headlines, though he had been surprised when she'd mentioned knowing him in the hallway. There was undisguised pain in his nearly-black eyes, and Lythia'l had a feeling it wasn't the physical type. Something had happened, of course, and Lythia'l could only guess that Jade had taken Spike and made a run for it, which was why she was the head of this blaming party. "Let her speak. She's come back. There must be a reason."

"Rubbing it in, maybe?" Alex/Xander said without any mercy. "I mean, if she wanted to give the soul back, a few days ago would have been _perfectly_ fine, since, we were you know, on her doorstep and everything."

"Well, now—" Lythia'l started, interrupted.

"No, Xander, don'tcha know. It probably wasn't convenient," Buffy said in a biting tone.

"No, half of us just had to die first," Buffy's companion wasn't too willing to keep quiet either.

"I'm lost here," The male wizard said, looking a bit confused. "Anyone want to fill me in?"

"The reason we have a rampant Slaypire is this bitch right here," Buffy's companion said, all too helpfully. Lythia'l rolled her eyes, although the words rang true enough, and her soul tugged on her with some guilt. _Not now_ , she urged it. She had to stay focused.

"But don't blast me," Lythia'l added. "Unless you want the Slaypire-on-the-loose thing to be permanent." Alright, that didn't exactly win her the crowd, but she wasn't here to play nice. If she won their hearts, it'd be through action, not talking—her father would be so disappointed. A proper Mok'Tagar would regale them with a story of courage and mercy before engaging on an epic quest, or rather just hoping that talking would remove the need to do anything else, but she wasn't a proper Mok'Tagar anymore. No, she had a soul, and she was about to give it up.

"I wouldn't take blasting off the table," Buffy inputted defiantly. The wizard's eyes were soft with affection and loyalty as he glanced at the blonde, stiffening a little into what she supposed could be attack formation, although she wasn't exactly frightened by the slim, tired looking man who was just as young as the rest of them. Babies, really, all of them.

"I really wouldn't try anything," Lythia'l said in what she hoped was a properly reproachful tone. "I can shoot fireballs out of my eyes." Blatant lie. Did they know that? So far, this wasn't exactly working out beautifully, and time was running short.

"Now's not the time for this," Angel cautioned, still looking at the one-eyed man.

"Okay, I didn't come here to atone," Lythia'l announced. "I get it. Bad things have happened. You blame me. I'm not here to beg, but I can help. Probably. You have a Slaypire on the loose, as you've figured out—"

"You've no idea!" One woman cried out, distraught. She tried to step out from where she had an arm draped around her from Angel, but he pulled her back.

The woman wasn't the only one with a haunted look. The one-armed Slayer hadn't done anything but look at the ground as a young man—more a boy, with dark hair and blood on his chin bandaged her stump. He pressed a few fingers to her cheek in a comforting gesture, murmuring quietly to her, but the glazed over look in her eyes didn't dissipate. And more Slayers had that dazed look, where they realised they didn't know what they were getting into at all. Death haunted this battleground, and despite Lythia'l's talk, she knew who was to blame. So she couldn't waste any more time.

"I'm here to find Jade." Lythia'l said, as straightforward as she could. "Where's Spike?"

"Jade has disappeared," another man said, his tone just as haunted as the rest. He was much, much older than the others, negating the vampire and a blue-colored woman who looked somewhat ancient. A woman was crowded into his arm. See, exactly. This so called group was made more of the enfeebled than anyone else. They should have been welcoming her help, whether she had a bit of a reputation or not, instead, where they lacked in strength, their glares burned holes. "She took Spike with her."

Finally, getting somewhere. " _Where_?" Lythia'l demanded. "She's not a teleporter," Lythia'l couldn't help but say that with a bit of pride. That was definitely one thing she had over the Slayer-vampire.

"In the hotel. What's left of it," Xander answered, tiredly. Helpful. She smiled cheerfully at him as a bit of a reward, but only got a stony expression in return. Difficult crowd.

"Fine. I suggest you all hobble your way to safety, then." Lythia'l said dismissively. "I'll find her."

"And what are you going to do?" Angel asked. His dark eyes looked pointedly to where the bauble hung on Lythia'l's chest. She hadn't bothered to hide it this time.

"I haven't decided," Lythia'l said. She glanced at Xander again, hopefully, but he was averting his gaze. Man, he really was playing hard to get. How annoyingly attractive, but not now. She had to focus. "Alright," She sighed. "I lied. I am here to atone."

She was rewarded by that one eye gazing back at her, distrusting but not hateful as she teleported away from all of them.

"In the hotel," She snarked quietly to herself. "That narrows it down." Well, it was a large thing, even if half of it had crumpled down into the ground, and she had a feeling speed was of the essence. She popped high into the sky for a look, felt herself fall, and teleported back onto the somewhat solid roof before she could fall too far. Nothing, except—

She craned her head. Somewhere, through the destruction, and pages and pages of loose books and broken furniture and sparks and steam, it seemed like there was something at the bottom of it all. Well, time for a closer look. And she hoped that Jade wasn't lingering in a corner somewhere, so she took it cautiously and slow. But not too slow. Had to _find Spike, save Spike_ , and her soul was not letting her ignore that. So she took a few meters at a time, coming closer and closer until—

She could definitely see two figures now, pressed so tightly together they were almost just one. While she was a bit amused at the thought of Jade finally having sex again, it didn't look like it was quite that arrangement, no, it was the bleach blonde vampire at the mercy of Jade, and she bit back a sigh. She better hurry. And she did, coming closer and closer until she was creeping up behind Jade, and those blue eyes of Spike, the ones that Jade adored so much caught Lythia'l's. And no, she wasn't exactly expecting beaming gratitude, but he started at her, bewildered and distrustful, but there was desperation and need in his eyes, and she could see there was a sliver of wood pressed to his chest.

And he called out to her, "Please!" And Lythia'l's soul swelled and cried with the same pleading. _Please, please, please, please,_ and Lythia'l's breath caught in her mouth, because she'd known what she came here for, but she hadn't wanted to admit it. She was giving up her prize, her freedom. She didn't come here to beat Jade into submission and lock her away, or help her adjust to her new life without a soul. She'd come here to give her her soul back, because Spike was right. It was too strong for Lythia'l, and it made her feel too much, and she should have never chosen a friend. Her friend, her only, real friend. Should never have done this to her. And she hated to lose. Lythia'l hated to lose.

But she couldn't stand to hate herself more.

So she reached up and grabbed Jade's arm, and the woman roared with pain, and they grappled, and Lythia'l was coming closer and then Spike _let go, why would he do that_ , and now she stumbled back from the force of Jade's blow, and Spike had betrayed Lythia'l at the worst time, looking at her with those puppy dog eyes. _I wasn't going to kill her_ , Lythia'l raged silently, or not so silently, a growl to herself, and it was right, because she hadn't thought of killing Jade and putting her out of her misery, at least, not lately, and words burned at her throat and she spat them out.

"Trust me, you idiot," and she didn't know they were the right words, the 'magic' ones, but they felt right, and they obviously had some effect on Spike, because his gaze softened and he steeled his jaw and pulled on Jade again. And with a roar, the Slayer-Vampire's attention was on him again, and he let out a groan as his head was hitting the rocks, and Lythia'l had to act, had to do it _now_ , no more thinking even if that was her best trait, and she fumbled with the necklace around her, and Jade was turning away from Spike's prone form and back to her, and it was Jade's obsession with Spike that served as the distraction, and Lythia'l slipped the soul from her neck as she felt fingers like steel brush her throat, and Jade was clumsier, slower, her arms mangled and weaker, so Lythia'l slipped her arms through the tangle of Jade's and towards her head.

The soul was gone, and perhaps it had just been a manipulation. She'd been wearing it all this time, all these thoughts in her head, and now was the time to realise that it hadn't been what she wanted, that it was the Soul who wanted to rescue Jade.

But it wasn't just the soul, now. They'd been in unison, her and the soul, for the first time. This was finally right.

Lythia'l's freedom for—

Jade's well-being—

Lythia'l didn't need the soul to complete her—

Jade was nothing without it—

And damn it to the higher reaches, she had a bit of a soft spot for this misfit—

Her breath tightened as the bauble left her skin, whistled through the air. Soared past Jade's blood-coated locks and dragged past her cheek, rounded the chin and fell onto collarbones revealed by the low-cut— _is that my dress—_ neck of her dress, and slapped resoundingly onto pale skin.

 _Look at that,_ Lythia'l thought, bewildered, as the fingers found their mark around her neck and began to squeeze. She had _saved the day and_ how odd that was. She'd never really put much interest into that before. She hadn't a soul of course, and she didn't have one now. But she didn't really need one. Jade did. She was only human, after all.

The pressure on her throat increased, and she choked for air. Was she actually going to die for this?

The answer to that was an affirmative no, she grabbed at the hand on her neck and pulled with all her might, though the hold faltered, it didn't relent. Now Lythia'l was worried, considering for the first time that maybe _it didn't work_ , and all her heroics had been for nothing, and now air was really hard to come back, and Mok'Tagar or not, she was afraid the soul hadn't clicked, but Jade hadn't torn it off again either, her golden eyes were full of malice and then—

Then a glow suffused those eyes, and they were red-white, not gold, not blue, and Jade gasped with anger and shock and confusion, and as there began to be black blots in Lythia'l's vision, she pulled herself free, gasping for air, elated in the fact that she was alive, because that _would have been such an unsatisfying death_ , as any death was ought to be, and Jade was crying out in a wordless roar.

But Jade _had her soul_ , she had her soul back, and that was because of Lythia'l. And so Lythia'l did the only thing that made sense in such a moment, where she had been good and helpful and deserving of praise.

She teleported away, so she wouldn't have to see Jade's face when Jade realised what she had done.


	13. Chapter 13

**13**

He was being shaken, desperately, vigorously. He felt his body lift up from the hard edges of rubble, felt some of his blood trickle down the back of his skull, and hoped none of his brains had leaked out either—wouldn't that be a bloody joke.

"Spike, please, wake up. Spike." The voice was frantic and pleading, the soft tenor ravaged by distress. Bloody hell, well if the world stopped spinning, he'd be able to give her another go, wouldn't he? Felt like a bigger hangover than the one he'd had after Dru'd left him and he drunk himself nearly senseless. Not to mention the bugger of a headache that blasted chip had given him after it decided to malfunction. He grunted out a curse word, or maybe a slew of them, his eyes screwed tightly closed so the world could still be black and he could make sense of the ringing in his noggin before he tried to add his burning eyes to the mix. His whole body hurt, and something still weighted half of him down, not that he had much strength to try to move himself anyway.

Think, bloody hell think. If he could with this racket banging upstairs.

"Thank God," the voice said in response to his muttered cusses. Whoever it was sounded relieved, but the apprehension was back as he felt cold fingers stroke his cheek. "Spike? Are you okay—"

He forced his eyes open then as the realisation hit him. Not just any bloody voice, but _hers_ , desponding and anxious. Jade. Ow, bloody hell. It was as if opening his eyes had sparked the no-return between awake and unconscious, and he was seriously considering that unconscious had been better, where his body didn't ache quite so much and he didn't have to worry about his innards being not quite so in. Pain was one undefinable _blob_ , stretching all over him.

But sod it, he'd take stock later, because now, there was Jade leaning over him, nearly close enough so that even the shorn edges of her hair almost touched his face, and her eyes were blue, so blue, like the sky if it had a bloody sun in it. She was the weight on him, hadn't moved since she—ow. Right. Coming back to him now, as he sorted it all out. Jade's big bad moment was interrupted by the unexpected but bloody warranted return of the Mok'Tagar demon, but he'd blacked out at that last part when his head hit rubble and they not so painlessly collided.

He wondered how long he'd blacked out for and decided it couldn't be long, since the sky hadn't changed much since everything went dark in his head.

And here was Jade, her arm being the thing that had lifted him up so he wasn't leaning back against the rubble and rubbing his achy bruises into the hard edges and making more bruises, but her arm shook, and he remembered that she wasn't in top shape herself. _Thank the bloody stars for that_ , he thought wryly, before he could help himself, because they never would have overpowered her otherwise but—he frowned. Where was the Mok'Tagar. She wasn't standing there, and though he didn't have the best vantage point, he didn't see her crumpled body lying there either.

There was a squeak from Jade, then, as he'd lifted up his body to get a better look, she realised where she was sitting, dress riding up to her thighs, her loins still very much pressed into him, and she hurriedly shuffled off, the weight gone and his head falling dangerously close back towards the offending debris as her grip slipped somewhat, but she held on steadily, and he didn't fall. He jutted out his own elbow then, to level himself, and he pulled himself into a sitting position, wincing as he jarred an apparently broken wrist.

Bloody hell, the only part of him that _didn't_ hurt was his privates, and he'd only narrowly avoided that—

Jade was looking at him, her eyes wide, lost and confused, letting him go when it was clear he could sit by himself. He saw it then, the bauble glowing around her neck, bright and steady. So Lythia'l had done it, after all. Jade had her soul back. He thought that should fill him with relief and elation, but he only felt an uneasiness in his gut. Weren't that easy. He wasn't so naïve to think it'd be all roses and rainbows from here on out.

"I'm fine," he heard himself say in a voice that was decidedly too croaked, so he swallowed. "Least I will be when the birds in my noggin stop nattering," and he pressed the fingers of his good hand to his skull, like it would drive the pain away. He was getting blood all over the place, as his back had been pushed into a nasty bit of rebar that'd done its best to drill a bloody hole through him.

Still, he wasn't the only thing to be concerned 'bout, here. There was Jade, her eyes not moving from his face, as if he were the only thing in the world anchoring her there. And he knew what it was like, soul returning to a body that'd had far too much fun without him, although he'd had a bit more to munch through than she did, he knew the process. First, she'd have nothing, not a clue 'bout what was going on, and then… then it'd come back, and he bloody well wished he could spare her from that.

"Spike?" She asked, those large, innocent eyes looking back at him. "I don't remember… how did we get here? What happened?"

He hesitated. Wondered how long he could shrug this off as nothing. He'd do that for her, 'course, not that it mattered. She'd remember on her own or the Scoobies would be far too willing to remind her. Pure forgiveness without scathing scrutiny was not something they excelled in, that was the sodding truth.

"Was it magic?" She was still asking, wondering how much she could probe from him, if he was at a loss as well. But no, every detail had come back excruciatingly precise. But still he hesitated. Groaned as he the shifting of his chest produced another white-hot pang. She'd broken a few of his ribs, too. She frowned in concern and shifted towards him to touch him—help him? And bloody hell, bastard that he was, he flinched, because he didn't want her to break anything else, though he sodding _knew_ better, his body reacted first, and she didn't miss it.

She froze, like a rabbit, one hand still outstretched, and he forced himself to relax. "Just a bit worse for wear," He answered, by way of apology. She wasn't going to hurt him now, and sodding hell, he'd let her if it could fix all this. All the hangovers he'd ever experienced, getting his soul had outshined them all in a very different, much more painful sense.

Jade gasped as she seemed to look up for the first time. "Is this…"

"A bloody hole in the wall, yeah," he answered to distract her, but it didn't work.

"The Slayer Headquarters?" She finished, her eyes gazing up with apprehension at the not-so-bloody-stable building they were in the belly of.

"Yeh," he answered shortly. That he could answer.

"What happened here?" She murmured again, a soft breath of a question. He hadn't been looking at her for any length of time, and she noticed. But bloody hell, he needed time to think. To break it to her easy—and bloody hell, _that_ was not his forte. Blunt and brusque were his sodding tried-true methods, but he couldn't stand to hurt her, knew it was coming anyway. "Spike," she repeated, and her voice wasn't so soft this time, it was desperate.

"Should try to get out o' here before the building collapses," he grunted, 'cept it was a bit hard to get to his feet, and _easier_ bloody said than done. He didn't know where the Mok'Tagar had gone, but sure was bloody nice of her to run off and leave them at the bottom of a teetering, half-opened building that seemed like it was going to keel over if it got taste of some wind. But they had to get out of here while they could. He didn't know much longer Jade's nescience would last. Not long enough, not ever long enough.

"What happened?" She asked again, and her voice wasn't soft anymore, those gentle blue eyes now turned penetrating. She already suspected. He could hear it in the way her voice trembled, how her good hand clenched into a fist.

"Jade…" He started, and his voice was hoarse. So much for putting on a good bloody show. He tried to raise to his feet, did so, although he swayed unsteadily, but she stayed crouched where she was, knees folded into the rubble.

"I don't remember anything. The last thing I remember…" She frowned, trying to recall, looking off into the debris as if it held the answers for her. Problem was, she look hard enough and it might just be.

"Not now," he cautioned her, but his strict tone turned pleading. He outstretched his hand, the one that wasn't broken, for her to take. For him to pull her to their feet.

"I lost it," She said in a whisper. Tears blurred those blue eyes of hers, and she tore her gaze from the broken floor up to him. "Didn't I?"

"We gotta move, Super girl," he said, just as eager to avoid this conversation as she was to have it.

"I lost my soul?" Jade said aloud, in a whisper, bewildered.

"'S on you right now," Spike pointed out, earning a bitter frown from her.

"Why can't I remember—" her eyes flickered away from his face, down to how he held his wrist and ribs protectively, the various cuts and bruises showing, a easy display from how his shirt was ripped open at the front, and hell—he remembered belatedly that his pants were undone, zipped up but unbuttoned, but her gaze didn't travel that south, back up to his face, memorizing all the cuts and bruises there.

"Jade," This time he gripped for her hand instead of waiting for her to lift it to him. "Gotta get a move on, luv."

"Who hurt you?" She asked, demanding. She had no strength to pull her hand from him, but she didn't respond to the pressure he applied either, staying where she was, crouched.

"Don' do this now," he urged her. Begged her. _Don't do this ever, just let it go,_ Super girl, he urged her silently.

"It was me, wasn't it?" She tore her hand from his grasp now, rifling her fingers through her hair, pressing her hand tightly to her scalp as if that'd pull what she wanted from her mind. "Why don't I remember!" She cried out.

"It'll take time." He dropped to his knees, to her level. If she wasn't coming willingly—then he wasn't leaving her. Of course he wasn't.

"I hurt you," her red-rimmed eyes stared out between the locks of her dark hair.

"Y'didn't mean to," he answered back as evenly as he could.

"Oh God," her face crumpled, "I hurt you, Spike." And then her hand was moving, and he didn't flinch this time, but it wasn't towards him anyway, it was within the debris, and her fingers withdrew a small shard of wood that he recognized. He moved, but she was faster, taking the makeshift stake and holding it, pointed side to her left breast.

"What the bloody hell!" He bellowed, angry, frightened.

"I was holding this when I came to," She blurted out. "To you. I was going—what," she stammered. "I hurt you. I did this—" She looked up at the broken hotel that housed them. "Didn't I?"

He wasn't going to hold it back from her anymore, not with that pointed to her heart. He jerked towards her, and she moved back, slowly, determinedly, the sliver of wood not maneuvering. "Yes," he answered.

"What else did I do?" She was playing the calm game, but Spike knew better than that. Knew she was like little broken shards right now, all grinding against each other.

"Weren't you," He said stubbornly.

"Of course it was me!" She disagreed, not taking the easy way out, the way she deserved. "There's blood in my mouth. My whole body hurts. I think I—" she closed her eyes tightly to keep the tears from leaking out. "Oh, what did I do?"

"Wasn't you!" He made a grab for the stake in her hand, and she raised her elbow to counter, protecting herself, her eyes open in a flash.

"Yes, it was! I lost my soul, I did. Whatever I did… it was all me. I can't—" Her lower lip trembled, and she lowered her head to her knees and let out a scream filled with rage and desolation. His Jade. His Slaypire, and bloody fuck he couldn't do anything to help her, not while she held that to her, and fear made him angry.

"Put that sodding thing down!" He demanded hotly. "Give it to me." She let his fingers wrap around her wrist as her head raised up again, but her hold on the wood didn't desist. She stared back at him, mourning, shaking her head.

"I can't, I can't, I can't—"

"What, live like this? You bloody well have to. You're not a sodding coward." And Jade trembled, but her hold was still strong. "Don't you dare. Y'wouldn't except it from Lily, so don't you bloody well try to do this to me. Just so you escape the pain."

"I don't—" Her teeth chattered. "If I did this, then I could do it again, I could—"

"That doesn't give you an out. You don't get that right, you _don't do that to me_ , so give me that bloody stake now." And he pulled at her hand, and this time, she relented, her gaze following it as he threw it aside with distaste. And then his anger was spent, because this was his broken little Vampire, and he'd been close to losing her again, and that terrified him, and now he took his good arm and wrapped it around her and pulled her close, pulled her to his chest even though it hurt like a bloody bastard, and she was so very small, and her body was convulsing with tears. "Shh, shh, Super girl," He murmured to her. She was lost and confused, and she only had fragments, and the memories would swamp her soon, and he knew what it was bloody like, and he held her tighter, as if he could make it all go away.

The building creaked and moaned, small pieces of broken furniture threatened to fall on them, but he continued to stroke the smooth curve of Jade's scalp, taming her hair until not one piece was out of place. Half of it was clumped anyway, by blood that had dried it into spikes. Into his chest he heard a cross between a sob and a whimper, as she began to get her crying under control, for it was from the shock and pain more than anything else.

"Need to get out of here," He reminded her, when she pulled back. Her eyes, they were full of guilt, and rimmed with red and her skin had marks on it from how tightly it'd been pressed into the collar of his jacket. There was a dazed expression on her face, an emptiness. She'd come to tears, but he had the feeling it hadn't quite sunk in for her yet. But it would. Still, he rose again, and this time, she accepted his hand. Her mouth dropped into an 'o' shape and she let out a strangled groan as she came to her feet.

"Ah, Christ," She muttered, pain in her voice. "Hurts like hell," She said it mainly to herself, not complaining, and Spike glanced up, at the hole in the floor above them.

"You made that. With your back. 'Magine it hurts a bit," he told her, not without sympathy. If she hadn't protected him, it would have been a Spike-sized hole there, and he'd be lucky to get to his feet. Jade'd had only spent a few minutes huddled to his chest, but they had been dangerous ones, and he'd be damn ticked off if they went through all of this to be crushed by a building. "Just hold it together, yeah?" He asked of her. "Just let us get out o' this. Focus on that."

Her bottom lip trembled, but that stoicism entered her expression, and she nodded. She'd keep it together, at least for now. He could trust that. Trust _her_ , his Slaypire, even if he didn't quite know where they stood. Right now, he was the one with the advantage. Knew exactly what'd passed, where she didn't have a clue. He remembered the fear when she'd pushed that near-stake into his chest, and how it felt when she snapped his wrist, Bloody hell, each time his hand moved he had a reminder. But that wasn't her. And hell, he'd been lying if he said he hadn't gone through worse with Drusilla, all those years they'd been together, sometimes it was the only way Dru could fight the barmy in her head, taking it out on Spike. And he'd been so willing then, anything to help his Dark Princess.

Now, it was anything to help his Super girl.

"Can you get up alright?" He asked. Pretty sure he could make the jump to the next level, even though he wasn't quite as old as Captain Forehead or as past-Slayer as Jade, but Jade looked shaky at best, and he wasn't sodding leaving her. She nodded without speaking, and he pointed up with the arm that didn't want to fall up. "You first, then."

She clenched her jaw, closing her eyes briefly for a second as she walked her way under the hole, then, burst up in a hasty, although not graceful jump, making it through the hole and up onto the next level. She disappeared from his sight then, and he felt a pang of worry pierce through his chest—or maybe it was one of his broken ribs. He couldn't very well protect her from herself up there, and if Buffy's gang was waiting—

"Spike," But no, there she was, her hand outstretched through the hole, slightly smeared with blood and dust, but hers, though he did his best to ignore it, making as far as he could , but having only one usable hand that didn't make him want to scream bloody murder, he was thankful for her fingers wrapping around his shoulder and helping him the rest of the way up.

"Bloody hell," he gasped out as he landed heavily on his chest, feeling iron on his tongue and lips as he spat up a few drops of crimson, wriggling his way back onto his knees on a very unbalanced floor. He clutched his chest with a grunt, those sodding _ribs_ of his, and Jade gripped him again, pulling him standing, but she wasn't so steady herself, and it seemed she was leaning into him as much as he leaned into her.

Two battered bloody champions, they were, although they hadn't exactly been fighting the good fight. Least, Jade wouldn't see like that.

"Oh God," She said, in a choked gasp. She pulled away from him, and her eyes were wide, unseeing. "I—" A horrified expression was on her face, no doubt reliving something she'd done—and sod it, he wanted to stop it, and not just because they were in the bloody maw of a crumbling building. Not even One-eye the Carpenter could put this bloody piece back together.

He grabbed her by the cheek, his thumb curling under her chin as he jutted her face up to meet his. "I know. You're starting to remember. But keep it in bloody check til we get out of here, luv. Do that for me." And perhaps he was a prat, relying on the loyalty he knew was there, had remained in her despite the change. And he knew she'd see the love that had remained as a perversion, some sick twist to be ashamed of, he knew it was as pure as a soulless thing could have done. He knew that, but she wouldn't see it that way.

"Okay." She swallowed. "Which way to get out?"

Huh. Now that was a solid sodding question. One floor was one thing, jumping up all the way to the roof was quite another. "Think the entrance was somewhere over here." And though they'd stepped apart, he outstretched his hand, and with hesitation, however slight, she took it. The floor tilted and split at more than a few junctures, and "Bloody hell," Spike snapped, kicking the wooden pieces out of the way. Crosses sodding everywhere. Jade was constantly cringing away from those still nailed on the wall, 'cause they'd built this place up like a bloody fortress. And might have done well enough to hold Jade back too, if she hadn't gone and knocked the floor out from under them. And he shouldn't have admired that, but truth was, he did a little. It had been smart. A bit smarter than Spike's tried and true run into it all method he'd exercised as a soulless vampire.

"Up there," because the floor had taken quite a bloody tilt to it, the lighter chairs and what have you had already slid down, but the heavier furniture and bookcases that had lost its books but not its overall weight were still sitting there, and that's what he was worried about. He gripped Jade's hand tighter as the incline increased, not missing the muffled gasp of pain she exerted as quietly as she could. Right. He could see it now, looking down at their conjoined fingers, the burn marks there from holy water. The water itself had done its job, which was why it wasn't burning his skin back, but he knew it must have bloody stung.

"Right behind you," Jade said, breaking into his thoughts, as if she knew what he'd been thinking, and her fingers squeezed tight around his. "I'm fine."

He nodded. "Lobby door right up here," but bloody hell, it wasn't the exit that Buffy and her ilk must have used, because as they approached it, he saw it was still locked shut with a padlock the size of his arm. O' bloody course. And his already aching legs protested more as he was nearly bending his knees in a 45 degree angle just to make it up the floor. The both of them struggled, but didn't stop, egged bloody on by the moaning and groaning of the building they were in. Was ready to collapse in on itself, and too much moving about would definitely bring a problem.

They were nearly crawling by the time they reached the door, and Spike swung his arm around the door bar for something to hold onto, loosing a 'bloody hell' between his teeth as he knocked his wrist. The door was above them, and gravity was pulling him down, so much that he was level with the tilted door, and not flat with the ground. He pulled Jade up with his good arm, pulling their joined hands up to the door handlebar so she could hold herself up, and he took his now-released arm and wrapped it around her waist instead, to steady her as much as he could. She shifted, rolling in so her head was near to his shoulder and they were more like one thing hanging instead of two. While his hand steadied her, she pulled at the lock itself, hissing with pain, a sizzling heard as her palm burned and she snapped her hand back, the motion rocking the two of them.

"Bloody hell, did they have to put sodding holy water on everything?" Spike complained as he tightened his hold on Jade. She was shorter than him, so she couldn't pull on the door and keep her feet on the barest incline of floor that they had left, which meant most of her weight was on him. He could feel her body, the tightly corded muscle, each tremor and tremble and shaky unnecessary breath, and one of her legs rested over his to help prop herself up, and she was such a small thing, but bloody precious, and he'd came so close to losing her.

Still might, if they couldn't get this sodding door open.

She curled her hand in a fist, teeth clenched. "I can try again, just give me a second." Her palm was blistered, raw and ugly red. There was a snapping somewhere to the left of them, which was slightly down due to the redirection of the room, and they watched one of the sofa chairs give up its hold and slide down the sloped floor. They had to get the bloody hell out of here before the building came down 'round their ears.

"No," He disagreed. "Hold yourself up and I'll give it a go. 'M better against holy water than you are."

She looked back at him, brow furrowed in a frown. "I can do it. It's just—"

"Burning you, luv. Once you build up a hundred years or so of tolerance, we can bloody talk. Now hold yourself up so I can let go o' you."

Her expression was a mixture of annoyance and frustration, and guilt of course—but that'd been there for a while—but she nodded, gripping the door handle and lifting her own self up so that Spike could let go of her. Their legs hit against each other, still entwined. Her bad arm was pressed solidly to her waist, the holy-water arrow wound in her shoulder not allowing her much in the way of movement, but her one hand was enough to hold her own weight.

That lifted off of him, Spike turned his now free hand to the lock. A quick test of the chains proved that they were dribbled with the same holy water mixture—of course they were. He would have been disappointed if they missed that bit, but seeing as the chains were likely to be weaker than the padlock itself, that's what he turned his strength to. And bloody hell, it hurt like a bugger, smoke rising up from his burning fingers. He tugged, hard as he could, pulling viciously, but nothing felt like it was giving.

"Bloody hell," He gasped, dropping the chains, his burning fingers trembling as he tried to arrange them into a fist.

"I'll try again," Jade said immediately, her gaze thick with concern.

"No, just give me a mo'," Spike disagreed, grunting as he tried to move his burned hand again.

"Spike, hold me up and I'll try it again."

"I'll get the bloody thing," He snapped back, her eyes large and sorrowful. Damnit, he didn't want to see her in anymore pain than she was, and this was his bloody prerogative. He'd protect her. Couldn't protect her from herself, bloody hell, but he could keep her from burning her hands off on a chain.

"I can try to break it with my foot," She said in a murmur, and it broke through the haze of pain in his head to remind him that yeah, probably was their best bet. "Hold me?" And she meant it so casually and innocently, and how could he resist that request, especially not now, so he took his arm and wrapped it around her again, his elbow bent at her waist and his hand reached all the way around to her belly button as he hoisted her up. She grunted and pushed up, aiming for the chains like he had, but her mark was off, and the chains bounced back, unscathed. She muttered, "Come on," under her breath, frustrated as she shifted her legs up, pressing them flat to the door, and it was only Spike's arm that would keep her from falling.

Her feet were clumsier than her hands, but the boots kept them from burning as she slid one foot under the chain to prop it up and slammed her other foot down on top of it, creating leverage so she could snap it through. There was a grinding sound, but the chains didn't break, and Jade's dress slipped further and further down her thigh, which would have been quite a lot of skin if it wasn't for the black tights she was wearing—something Spike was quite grateful for, because the last thing he needed right now was a bloody distraction.

"Come on," Jade snapped again, exasperated. "Break, damn it." She stomped her foot down in a loud thump, and there was a crack, but the chain still held strong. More things had slid down into the belly of the building, gravity and angles pulling everything down, and he watched another bookcase teeter and fall. Building was reaching its sodding boiling point, and if they couldn't—she stomped down hard again, and the momentum caused him to lose his grip on the door, and he swore at the pain in his wrist as he tried to keep them up, Jade's feet losing contact with the door as the two of them swung. He was keeping the two of them upright by his elbow, 'cause his feet had lost contact with the floor, and he stretched to try to get his tippy toes to reach it again and steady the two of them. He felt Jade's cheek thud into his shoulder.

"I think I broke it," Jade murmured. "Just a little more—" the building groaned out, loudly and vehemently, and his feet slipped again as the floor beneath them shuddered, and bollocks, if they weren't going to get crushed in here—

And then there was a thud on the door again, but this time it wasn't from Jade. The two of them looked at each other, bewildered and worried as the door screeched open, pulled by force, and instinctively, Spike clutched Jade closer to him, to protect her, and on the opening door revealed Illyria, Faith and Angel. Faith and Illyria were on each side of the doors, a key jutted into the padlock on _their_ side, because of bloody course they had to lock both sides of the door to make things really difficult, but now Illyria reached down and pulled at Spike and Jade's padlock, looking a bit surprised and pleased with herself when it broke apart easily enough.

"Hey kids," Faith said, in a voice that was a bit higher-pitched than normal. Her broken arm was held to her chest, and her dark eyes were focused on Jade. "It looks like you might need a hand, so we came to save you. You're welcome."

"Right-o," Spike said, his tone hoarse. Angel's dark eyes stared back at him, impassive and it left Spike wondering just how far he could trust these three. They'd just lost Charlie Boy, after all. But they didn't have much of a choice, Jade still wrapped in his one good arm, and his other crying out for bloody mercy each time they swung. Just play it casual, then, and take it minute by minute. "Help a bloke up, then."


	14. Chapter 14

**14**

It was like everyone else had done the assigned reading, and she'd only had the cover of the book to guess what the story was about. It'd been one thing with Spike. She knew him. Knew some of his tells when he was too emotional to cover them properly. Knew something bad had happened the moment she'd woken up with no idea how she'd gotten to this place, and no memory. And she'd _known_ in her gut, where something wicked and malicious lay raveled and twisting, and then she'd had confirmation. And she felt like she'd been sucked out into space, where all there was was a vacuum but it was crushing her anyway.

But he'd asked her to focus, and she could do that. Push it all away into an envelope that wasn't to be opened until later, even if _things_ kept cropping up, memories of things she had no recollection of doing, but when she recalled it, there was no denying it. No denying the taste of blood in her mouth, left over but still pungent, a lingering hunger and desire for something that escaped her.

And Spike, Spike was so hurt, his shirt ripped wide open, and a spectacular half-rainbow of assorted blues and purples and greens marred his beautiful alabaster skin, and she had done that to him. She knew it, knew it in her heart or her stomach or her blood.

But they had to get out of here first. Spike was bruised and bloody, but he was still here, unliving, and that was all that mattered. So when their rescuers looked down at them, Jade pushed her guilt away, the uncertainty of whether she deserved to live or not. But Illyria was staring at her, inhuman blue eyes were captious and irate, and even though she was closest, it was Angel who pushed past Illyria and held out his hand for Jade, his eyes meeting hers. And they were the only ones that were understanding and gentle. Faith's weren't hateful, but they weren't forgiving either, so Jade focused on the vampire gratefully, extending her good hand and clasping Angel's.

He pulled her up, Spike's hand on her back to help her up the last stretch, and she felt Angel's other arm wrap around her shoulders to steady her as he put her back on her feet. She moved, allowed herself to be led, as if it was an old dance routine in which she knew all the steps—not that she'd ever been able to dance, with her absolute 'tragic lack of a rhythm' as Spike had put it. But her body moved while her mind was frozen, and Angel released her but stayed near.

Jade focused on Illyria reaching into the hole and pulling up Spike, with Faith steadying Spike as he too, was pulled onto his knees and then rose up to his feet, on ground that was finally even and perfectly horizontal.

"Bloody hell, watch the wrist," Spike muttered, as it was jarred in transport.

"You are injured," Illyria stated flatly, to which Spike scoffed.

"Y'think? Brings back ol' times when you were all for punching m' in the face, doesn't it?"

"Those were… pleasant times," Illyria admitted, then she shifted her gaze and set it on Jade instead. "However, she does not have the same license to do so as I did." And the blue woman stepped forward, closer to Jade, and many things happened at once.

Jade took a step back and inadvertently thudded into Angel's broad shoulder. Angel in turn, scissored around Jade so that he was in front of her instead, and a deep growl fettered from Spike's throat, but his angry blue gaze was centered on his Grand-sire, not Illyria. Faith moved too, the Slayer a blur as she reached out and grabbed Illyria to halt her. Illyria shook off Faith's hold, but the Slayer wasn't deterred, her dark gaze blazing.

"Hey, remember what we said about the whole rescuing gig. That means you don't pummel the rescuees after it's all done with." Faith reminded her, and Illyria glanced at her coldly.

"Charles is dead," Illyria stated. "Is she not the one who murdered him?" Her words were sharp, forceful.

"Yeah, but there's the whole 'but' complex you gotta look out for, Smurfette." Faith retorted. "Now you gotta stop with the hasty and give her some space, alright?"

Illyria set her lips in a thin, aggravated line. "I do not understand," The blue woman said finally. "How can you defend her when she killed Charles?"

"It wasn't her fault, Illyria." Angel spoke gently, softly from where he stood in front of Jade, but Jade had frozen. Killed Gunn? She couldn't remember… but no-one was denying it, and that coldness took over her veins, such a deep, foreboding feeling that she knew they were telling the truth. She'd barely spoken to him, had more words exchanged with Gwen, his girlfriend, than she had him. Gunn was always talking to… Spike instead. They were pals, friends, even. Her body shook, and she glanced over to Spike. How could he forgive her after—

But he wasn't looking at her, his gaze was still focused on Angel, irritation in his gaze, and Jade wasn't exactly sure why.

"Come on, Blue," Faith was saying to Illyria, and Jade hadn't been the only one to notice the exchange of looks between Spike and Angel. "Let's go tell the others rescue operation was a success and they don't have to worry becoming a three course meal anymore." She was brusque and unapologetic, but her eyes as she glanced at Jade weren't hateful, merely wary.

Illyria wasn't so understanding, glaring back at Jade with a lofy glance, but the blue woman relented with a resigned nod and followed after the Slayer. A sudden silence fell then, and with another irritated, blazing glance at the older vampire, Spike shouldered past him and towards Jade. And there he was, in all his glory, where she could actually look at him, without having to worry about the building falling on their heads, but it was probably best to get some distance from it all the same, from how unstable it looked.

 _I did that_? She wondered in her head, still bewildered, and Spike had kept moving towards her, and she was surprised when he wrapped his arm around her again, draped across her shoulders and pulled her nearer to his chest—an action that made him wince—all the while keeping his gaze on Angel, like he was making a point. And she couldn't think on it, not much, because her head was reeling with thoughts she was having now, and thoughts she had had _then_ , and it was so confusing, and she rested her head wearily on Spike's shoulder, not enough will to pull herself free, even if she knew succumbing to his touch was wrong, she couldn't help herself.

"Trying to help, Spike," Angel pointed out, sounding a bit irritated himself. "You need someone on your side."

"Got all the help I need," Spike answered stubbornly.

"Has she started remembering yet?" Angel asked then, ignoring the bleach blonde vampire's obstinacy, and Jade should have been the one to answer, but her tongue felt heavy, and Spike's thumb was stroking her temple, and she felt so buzzed and exhausted at the same time that she didn't feel like she was in her body at all, but out of it, like she was watching a movie and not there in person.

"Comin' back to her now," Spike answered, sounding very far away. "I wan' to take her away for a bit, 'til she can sort it all out."

Angel was shaking his head. "You can't do that, Spike, not right now. A lot of people are angry and hurt, and it'll just make it worse."

"I don't care," Spike growled. "We know what it's like, you an' me. 'M not putting her through that right now, not while she can't protect herself."

"Protect herself?" Angel asked, with a quizzical, challenging look, as if Spike meant physically, like she'd have to fight them off.

"Defend herself, then. Everyone talkin' at her all at once, knowing more then she does. Not bloody fair. Lookin' for someone to blame when she's trying to sort her own head out."

"I know it's not the most _comfortable_ of situations, but running off with her now will not help in the long run, use your head, Spike."

"I am," Spike growled, a guttural sound deep in his throat. "'M not throwing her to the sodding wolves. They won' understand."

"So you'll return in a month or two and hope things have calmed down by then?" Spike wasn't the only one sounding angry, Angel looked frustrated. "That won't fix this."

"Not your call." Spike replied stubbornly. "Not a thing 'bout Jade has to do with you."

"Damnit, Spike, I'm trying to help you."

"Well sodding stuff—"

"Enough," Jade interrupted. Her voice was harsher and louder than she intended, but she was just glad she could speak. It seemed like a lump had been growing in her throat, larger and larger, and she'd been confronted with an amalgam of thoughts and images she didn't remember having, and each was more painful than the next, and she needed to focus on something else. Anything else.

"I'll see them now." She continued, as the two male vampires quieted, looking back at her as if they'd forgotten she was there. Spike's scarred eyebrow shot up with surprise, and he scowled immediately in disapproval.

"You can hardly walk!" He protested.

"I won't run," she said, setting her jaw. "I won't be a coward." And the shoulder next to hers sagged, guilt blossoming in his crystal blue gaze. He'd told her that. When she'd held that shard to her heart. It was hasty now, she knew as much. But knowing that… all the bruises and blood on Spike, that she'd done that, it made her want to vomit. And she didn't think vampires could even throw up. And it would have been nice, slipping away without the full color version of everything she'd done. Ignorance was such a lovely thought. One rapidly slipping from her. "What did I do to them?" She asked in a smaller voice.

Spike and Angel shared a glance, and the larger vampire shrugged, his eyes sympathetic.

"You'll remember soon 'nuf. Sneak preview won't help," Spike answered first. "Come on. Best join up with 'em, then." He tugged Jade into moving again, and they stumbled forward, not the most graceful pair, not now, but with Spike's obvious hostility, it didn't seem like he'd accept any physical help from Angel, not for either of them.

It was still dark out, although the sky was lightening somewhat, and Jade realised she had no idea how much time had passed. She knew it wasn't years, at least. Faith hadn't acquired any new wrinkles, but was it weeks? Months? She had no idea, although she was sure she'd find out soon enough, in excruciating detail.

"Everyone's on the far side of the parking lot," Angel said. "Over there, behind those cars." And _behind those cars_ never had such meaning, because there were cars—or at least pieces of them—everywhere, a tire flopped over on its side, part of a fender, and then a whole fender somewhere else. Spike's arm had slipped from her shoulders, but he still lingered close, stopping each time she hesitated to take a step. She'd done this. She'd _done this_. She must have. But she just couldn't remember.

She could hear the running engines first, and then see a few figures standing by them, and she jerked to a standstill again, glad she wasn't human so that she didn't have to worry about hyperventilating. But Spike was there, his fingers lightly covering her own. "'S okay, Super girl," his voice was a quiet, comforting murmur, but at least he wasn't rubbing it in her face again, about how this was all a bad idea.

"Spike," Angel's voice sounded harsh, but it was only because it was louder than Spike's calming whisper. "You should probably," he gestured with a hand that didn't point to anything specific at all, looking uncomfortable. "Do that up before we see the others."

Spike frowned, then his face relaxed with comprehension. "Oh, right." He released his hold on Jade to do up both his jeans and his belt buckle, which were undone. Jade touched her fingers to her lips, a nervous gesture to hide her face when Spike nonchalantly fixed his askew pants. She hoped the look on her face wasn't horror, but with wide eyes and a wrinkled brow, it probably came close. Despite herself, she couldn't help but follow his hands with her eyes, drifting past the tightly corded muscle of his abs, the V-shape she could just slightly make out… she tore her gaze away. His shirt was ripped open, his pants were undone, _Oh God, what did I do?_ Her mouth went dry, and she didn't realise that Spike was done until he gave her another gentle nudge to move her along.

She tried to tell herself not to lose her composure before she knew for sure what happened, but she knew how strong she was—well, normally was. She had doubt she could even lift a chair at this point. If she had forced him to—and he was with Buffy. Oh god. And he'd flinched away from her, even just a little bit, when she'd first woken him. What else had she done?

There were only a few of them standing by the cars now. Buffy was there, with Illyria and Faith, and Xander and Gwen were standing there as well, although Gwen wasn't standing so much as she was hunched over. Oh god, Gwen

— _Burning pain, a sizzzzzling in my lower back as this wood sinks into my flesh, have to grab it and fuck that hurts, they tried to stake_ **me** , _but they failed and I'll kill them all, but where is Buffy, she got away, because of Faith stepping in the way, as if it'll make a difference in the end. And where's Spike, why can't I see him in this? I'll get him, they can't stop me. Jump, damn it. Higher than all of them, there he is. He's not fighting,_ of course he's not, he'd never fight me _, I have to get to him, but this stake's still in me, and fuck, it's burning everything, my hands, my—something's coming at me. Crossbow bolt. Missed me, well see if you can dodge this. A gurgling. It's hit, of course it's hit. Sorry Gunn, but don't shoot me if you can't stand a stake to the throat. That's what you get, all of you get for trying to keep me from Spike, from trying to fight me. Screaming his name, are you Gwen? Sorry, it won't bring him back, but I can try to reunite you. Reunite, I must get to Spike—_

She couldn't face her. She could see it now. The hard contrast of fire and smoke in the darkness, the exhilaration she felt when she hit her mark, she'd always been subpar at throwing things, it was why she defaulted to the bow and arrow, but she'd dodged the bolt to her and thrown the crossbow bolt instead, and what a fantastic, unexpected shot it had been, and Jade could remember the triumph she had felt then, crashing against the horror she felt now. Knowing she killed Gunn was one blow, remembering every detail of it was quite another. And he wasn't the only one she'd killed, not by a long shot—

"Jade," Spike was barely inches from her, his blue gaze boring into her own. He'd cupped her cheek to draw her attention back up to him, and she bit back a shudder. "Almost there, luv."

"I killed Gunn," she whispered. "I can't face Gwen," she couldn't, couldn't, not after that. So few of the Slayers had broken off to try to make friends with Jade. She was an outsider, she understood that. And Angel's companions, though they were tight among themselves didn't exactly fit in with the Slayers either. And though Gwen reminded Jade of one of the girls from High School, the kind she'd like to talk to and get acknowledgement from, they were never alike enough to be true friends. Still, Gwen had been kind to Jade when Jade was on her deathbed, dying from the deceased who wanted to access her body, and she'd been in love with Gunn, and now…

"Gunn was your friend," Jade continued. Gwen'd sit with her, and Gunn would talk to Spike, and she'd taken him away… "He was your friend, and I—"

"Shh," Spike said. "I'd be a bloody hypocrite to blame you for that. And I _don't_." He said it with vehemence, in tandem with his thumb stroking her chin. He was being so kind to her, so _kind_ and she didn't deserve it. "Y'can't blame yourself."

But she did, and even as the words passed his lips, she knew he didn't think she'd be able to listen to his words.

"Jade," Buffy called, cutting through all the noises, cutting through the small, small world where it was just Spike anchoring her to the ground, and she felt Spike's feather-light touch leave her jaw so that she could turn to look at Buffy. And the blonde had not escaped the damage, although she seemed far luckier than the most of them, with blood and dirt on her skin but nothing that looked debilitating or broken. "Got your soul back?"

Did Jade answer her? She wasn't sure if the words came, but she nodded numbly. She couldn't hide the soul anyway, not in the dress she was wearing—why was she wearing a _dress_ of all things, and Spike shifted in front of Jade, looking over at Buffy, so that Jade couldn't see his expression but she wished she could.

"You don't need to do this now," Spike was saying, a warning, and Buffy fixed a glower at him, nearly glacial in appearance, an _Obviously, I don't need you to tell me that,_ look.

"She can ride with you and Illyria," Buffy dismissively turned her gaze away from Spike and towards Angel. It was an odd splitting of the group, and Jade was curious, but not nearly enough to ask, as Gwen, Faith and Xander followed Buffy into one of the two remaining vans. Xander was a little slower to disappear into the vehicle, glancing back at Jade with something that might have been sympathy and understanding in his one eye, but she wasn't quite sure.

Gwen however, wasn't so quick to move. She'd noticed Jade now, and her gaze was fixed, even as Faith wrapped one arm around her and tried to move her.

"Come on, G." Faith tried to coax Gwen with her, who hadn't blinked once she'd seen Jade. Her hair, always in slightly messy curls was now akin to a rat's nest, in disarray, and there was blood on her, and her eyes were nearly swollen shut, they were so red, and there were tear marks down her cheek. "Come on, let's get out of the open and whatnot. Don't do this right now," Faith was saying, although Gwen outstretched a few bare fingers a little too close for comfort and the Slayer swung back warily. "Hey now, don't do this, Electro-bug. I'm your friend, and I don't take well to good old ECT, alright?"

"You," Gwen choked out, ignoring the Slayer for a minute. "You killed him!"

"Faith, get her inside the van," Angel ordered cautiously, earning a glare from Faith.

"Trying, Boss," The Slayer said irritably. "Unlike you, my heart doesn't need the defibrillator."

Gwen stepped towards Jade, who didn't move, but Faith clasped Gwen's arm to hold her back, narrowly avoiding those fingers again. "Later," Faith promised. "Now come _on_ , Gwen." Jade didn't get to see if Gwen obeyed or not, because Jade was being pulled away, into the open doors of a van, an arm wrapped tightly around her waist to guide her in, Spike's.

He set her down next to one of the side benches, his leg brushing hers as he sat right next to her, slamming onto the metal grate separating the back of the van from Xander, who was sticking his keys in the ignition and starting up the engine. Angel and Illyria swept to the other side, sitting across from her and Spike. Spike's arm had slid off of her, and she found she missed the feel of it, the comfort it brought her, although she new bitterly that she didn't deserve it.

"Where are we going?" Jade found herself asking in a tired whisper as the van jolted to life, the screech on wheels as it followed after its counterpart vehicle. But Jade could only barely see through the front, and there were no windows in the back, so she glanced around at her companions instead. Illyria's cold blue gaze had not left her, with the rigid posture of someone on their watchful guard.

"One of the back-ups," Angel answered. "In case their Headquarters in San Francisco went down, they have an alternative, not too far away. Smaller, hidden." He glanced at Illyria for confirmation, and the blue woman's gaze didn't falter from Jade as she corroborated.

"The magic the Witch put on it means it can only be found by those know where it is." Illyria answered in a flat tone.

Like Haven, Jade thought to herself, and she didn't want to think of Haven because then

— _The bar's empty too? Not empty, but filled with demons and they're no sport because they're not tasty, and where is Lorne? I want to thank him for all the advice he gave me. No, not really. All the times he called me honey and thought I was so well-trained. I liked spending time here, but I was so weak, and now I'm going to burn it to the ground. I can do anything. It's on fire now, and haha, that explosion nearly hit me. Guess that's what happens when you light volatile alcohol on fire. How exciting. And look, all these Haven residents have a peeved look in their eye. Why? Because they're all tame little pets running around so they can feel safe? Well, no-one's safe here. Except for me. I'm going to burn it all to the ground—_

"Which is why Droopy Boy is at the wheel," Spike was saying, as Jade exhaled a breath she didn't need. More fire, more smoke. More blood as the demons she'd burned out of _Venia_ came to see who was breaking Haven's rules, exhilarated with the idea of some good old fashioned violence that wouldn't see them persecuted. And Jade had been exhilarated too, all too happy to meet violence with violence, laughing all the way as she fought among them. She shuddered. "He's the good little Shepherd."

"That Slayer, Kennedy, took the Witch and the rest of the Slayers there before you arrived," Illyria informed Angel. "Cowards, in my opinion, running." She raised her gaze upward in an expression that probably replaced the eye-roll. "But Buffy allowed it. And we waited for you to return."

"Thank you, Illyria," Angel responded in gratitude that might have been just a tad exasperated, but it seemed to appease the blue woman, and she fixed her gaze back on Jade.

"Interesting group we got here," Spike mentioned after a few long moments of silence. "There a reason that we consist of non-humans, cept for tasty Driver boy in the front?"

"Hey," Xander complained, from up front. "I'd rather you _not_ call me tasty, thanks."

"Not like that, you ponce," Spike scowled.

"My idea," Angel said quietly, glancing at Jade. "You're both pretty hurt. Nothing to snack on, so we thought it best to have nothing tempting—"

"She's not going to eat anyone, you Poof," Spike snapped. "Not with her soul back."

"She has a taste for it now," Angel reminded him in that same soft undertone. Jade closed her eyes, because she didn't want to see anyone now, not Spike's face as he defended her—and he shouldn't be, not after, after all _that_. And Illyria's condemning gaze, she couldn't see that either, not even Angel's, the mix of sympathy and understanding in there. Understanding, because he knew what it was like. The two vampires who lost their soul. What a club.

"Don't matter." Spike denied stubbornly. "She's not like you—"

"Spike," Jade interrupted quietly, because she _was_ like Angel. As soon as she'd lost her soul she'd become a sadistic, barbaric monster who had killed for the fun of it. And every impulse she'd acted on, well Jade choked at the thought that she'd thought thoughts such as those. It might have been the other side but it was still the same coin. "I don't think you're supposed to thank people who help you by insulting them." She said it gently, opening her eyes to see him looking back, mildly affronted.

"S'only way I know how," He answered, but there was at least some humor in his tone, so she knew she hadn't made him angry.

"Isn't that the truth," Xander grumbled from in the front, earning a growl from the bleach blonde vampire. Still, Spike let his shoulders fall, releasing tension from them as he leveled his gaze back at Angel.

"'Spose I should thank you," he said grudgingly. "For heading that little rescue party. Although we could have gotten out on our own."

Jade glanced down at her burnt palms, and she could see Angel's gaze flickering at them as well, but the larger vampire only shrugged. He turned to Illyria then, asking her questions about what had gone on while he was absent, and Jade frowned, because she wondered where exactly he meant, but her attention was drawn back to a thumb softly planted on her cheek, and she looked to her left to see Spike gazing back at her.

"How're your hands?" He asked.

"About the same as yours." She answered, because he'd touched the same holy-water soaked chains as her, though his burn wasn't as bad. Over a hundred years of built up tolerance and she found she was jealous. _No_ , she told herself. If holy water and crosses were something that kept her at bay while she had been without a soul, then she wanted all the weaknesses she could have. And her hand self-consciously went up to her throat, feeling along the chains as they settled on the bauble, and she rested her soul in her hand. The smooth surface didn't irritate her skin overmuch, and she found it comforting, even if there was no feel from her soul, no warmth. It was just light.

"How… how did I get my soul back?" She asked, a frown crossing her features. "For that matter, how did I lose it in the first place? I don't remember." There were such large gaps, and she still didn't know how long she'd been out, "And how long was I—"

"Hold on a tick, Super girl," Spike raised his hand for mercy. "It was only 'bout three days. That's all." She was sure it was meant to be comforting, but what she had glimpsed so far… and in only three days… Soulless her didn't waste time. And that was thought with a scoff.

"As how you got and lost your soul," There was a growl inherent in that sentence, and she looked up, alarmed, but his anger didn't seem directed at her. "That'd all be pointing at the same person."

"Who?" She should remember, but she still wasn't sure exactly when she'd lost it, everything was still a little hazy.

"That Mok'Tagar bitch," Spike replied with venom. Even Xander heard him, and Jade saw him shift a little in his seat up front, uneasy. Lyth? It made sense but it didn't at the same time, and she felt her stomach twist into a very tight ball, and she felt sick again. After two years, she'd finally done it. How proud Lyth must have been, to finally win over Jade, and the comprehension that Lyth had also returned it failed to come to mind, and she felt a disgust and anger that had likely become very familiar to her over the last three days.

 _I'm going to kill her._


	15. Chapter 15

**15**

The drive was less than an hour, but Jade had run out of steam for asking questions and fallen quiet, a haunted look on her face. Spike'd tried to distract her once or twice, but when Angel had pried himself away from talking to ol' Blue, he'd suggested Spike leave her alone while she remembered. Which actually, was probably a solid plan. Knew he hadn't wanted to see much of anyone after his soul had been put back, and he was damn bloody grateful for the silence as he sorted through over a hundred years of memories, now with his tarnished soul at the helm of it all to re-experience everything.

Still, because it was Angel who said it, of course Spike's retort had to be snappy, hoping to get a rise out of the hulking vampire, and Xander had shouted at them all to shut up a little, because the wanker was feeling safe in the front of his van with a metal grate separating them. However, Spike's fingers were long and he didn't have to worry about silly things like circulation, so he'd managed to jab Xander good once in the shoulder and felt a little more satisfied about that, all the while Jade was sitting like a statue, not moving, except in tandem with the jerks of the van, her eyes closed, hand tight over her soul as if she thought someone else might take it from her. It was hard to tell if she was asleep or not, but he could tell from the winces that passed over her face that she was still conscious, just revisiting.

And yeah, he could give her some time for that. Hell, his time had nearly made him crazy, although living in a basement where the First could get into his head probably hadn't helped matters. There was Angel's shorter stint, when he'd been in LA and took out his soul on purpose so he could figure something or other out, 'course that had taken a detour, because when did anything regarding Angel—soul or no soul—ever go straight without a hitch. Spike hadn't been surprised at all that the great lug had managed to free himself, although it had been an eyebrow raiser to hear that Faith, mainly, had been the one to put him down. And then she'd come in to Sunnydale again, all rehabilitated, and the rest was history. Some he'd been there for. And sometime after he'd left Angel's all-too-fun-gang, Faith'd left the Slayers too and switched to Angel's little group, and now they were close as peas in a sodding pod, and he knew that because Buffy had grumbled about it from time to time, and it had amused Spike. It had also put some hope pumping back into his still heart, that Faith might wrangle the all-virtuous Angel and leave Buffy no-one to turn to but him.

Still, that ship had sailed. Spike didn't know what was going to happen now, but he'd knew that Buffy wasn't going to be jumping back into his arms, that was for bloody certain. And perhaps it'd been a little hasty of him, to humiliate her in front of her charges, 'cause now he knew the sympathy he and Jade would get wouldn't exactly be glorious helpings. Still. He'd done it, no turning from it now. Made his grave and sodding had to be buried in it now, and any other analogies he could think of.

"Quit lookin' at her like you're going to put a stake in her the next time she twitches," Spike warned Illyria, who'd long dropped out of that boring bloody talk she was having with Angel. There was only so much Spike could stand from Angel and his little team, what with their absolute loyalty to him and all, even from the Old God Illyria. Well, she listened to him from time to time, but she liked to pretend she was under no-one's heel. So she'd certainly assume the responsibility to act for the group if she felt she was in the wrong, and Spike wasn't taking that chance.

Illyria raised her chin haughtily. "I will guard her if I so choose."

"Yeah, guard 'er from harm, not be planning it yourself."

"Spike," Angel warned.

"An' where do you get off, huh? Thinkin' she's in anyway any of your responsibilities. S'not your problem to worry about, s' mine, so I'd 'preciate if you all lay off the judging—"

"We're not the ones you have to convince, Spike." Angel snapped back in a hard tone. "I know you feel like you're in a corner, so you have to snap at everybody, but you don't need to push everyone away because you're convinced you're alone. I know asking for help isn't in your nature, but you'll find it makes friends a lot easier than mouthing off all the time."

"Don't need friends," Spike said stubbornly. "'Specially when you got your own interests in mind—"

"I'm not the one you're mad at. You want to blame someone, I know you're blaming yourself, but don't try to lay it on me."

Spike licked his lip, trying to find a reply and finding himself a little short. Damn the Poof for seeing right through him. He was defensive because he was on edge. Worried for Jade, both from herself, and just what followed. Wasn't like he'd ever lost his soul since he got it, no, he was the one who didn't have to worry 'bout it being sucked from his body again. And Angel, well, he always seemed to get off the hook, each time, didn't he? And yet this time, Spike couldn't loathe him for that because he was hoping for the same thing from Jade. She'd forgiven more. She'd also condemned less. A bloody toss-up, that's what it was.

It was uncertain, and he didn't like it. So in the lack of a good reply, he crossed his arms in front of him—at least tried to, remembering his wrist belatedly and grumbled, "Are we bloody there yet?"

"Almost. Passed the bridge. Just a bit further." They were welcome words, ones that bounced off his ears as he looked to Jade again. Still frozen, like a statue. Nothing he could do there either. Just wait and twiddle his sodding thumbs.

"Fort Baker, is it?" Spike asked as they stepped out of the cars and into the slightly misty site. "Yeah, certainly, no-one can bloody find this place. Unknown to the world, it is."

"Shut up, Spike," Xander muttered without much venom. "Entrance is hidden over here. Headquarters are underground."

"'Course they are," Spike muttered to himself, not that he minded, 'cause the sun was soon to come up, and it wasn't nearly cloudy enough to keep too much sunlight from frying them. Was cold, too, being early January, though there wasn't a mite of snow on the site. They slid onto the asphalt, and then dirt, and Jade followed without a word, though Spike noticed Angel was keeping as much of a close eye on her as Spike was. And he didn't like it, not one bit.

Angel fancied himself the bloody redeemer now, with all the experience he had with trying to get the blood off his hands, and Spike wasn't about to let Jade become another one of his projects. She didn't need redeeming, not like the Dark Slayer had, not like Peaches himself. She hadn't done anything wrong. 'Least not on purpose. And she didn't need bloody saving, not unless Spike was doing it.

They left the parking lot, and were about to walk flat into a bunch of trees, and Spike was definitely opening his mouth to say something, when there was a shimmer in the air. Bloody hell. Could recognize a glamour when it was staring him in the bloody face. Xander muttered to himself, looking like he was just reaching out to touch air when there was a click and a visible shimmer, and a doorway appeared. He glanced to make sure Jade was right behind him, and she was, her eyes glazed, the same expression on her face that she'd had the whole way here, as if she wasn't truly there, just carrying out the motions. He'd seen that haunted look a time or two, but it didn't seem like Jade was too willing, or even capable to let him help right now, so he just made sure she was following and he entered in.

Certainly wasn't lavish, that was for bloody sure. Looked more like the places he used to stay in back in the eighteen bloody hundreds, darker and cramped and quite obviously some place to escape to when the Slayers were in a bad way. But most of them should have been fine, since they escaped early, tail between their legs. He'd been told that Buffy only kept the ones with her that wanted to try to take Jade alive, but Spike wasn't sure that he believed it, although thinking clearly right now probably wasn't his forte.

"Belongs to a warlock friend of Willow's," Xander explained to them as they passed through the thin corridors. "He doesn't exactly like visitors, but he's agreed to let us use this place when we need to."

"Yeh, well, wouldn't blame him for hiding away such a jewel," Spike muttered, not lacking for sarcasm, not one bit.

Finally, the bloody hall widened into a large room, and it was good that Spike didn't need to breathe, because the walk had been sodding cramped. It was here that the sight of it changed again, instead of dusty, ancient—alright, _old_ looking, because ancient was bloody relative—halls, it looked clean and furnished. The lobby-like area they stood in now was wider, book cases on the walls, and only two people stood in the middle of it, Faith and Buffy.

"Hey, Boss." Faith smiled at Angel, her intense dark gaze lingering, as Spike noticed it often did, nowadays. Her arm was bandaged up more, now, in a makeshift sling. Red had a lot of mending on her hands to do, which reminded Spike that the Witch was still out of commission, at least he assumed so, since no-one had said a bloody thing about her, and he cursed inwardly. Could use some of the Witch's help right now, since she was respected, and her magic would do a lot of good. Not to mention the fact she had a soft spot for Jade. A soft spot he didn't know if anyone else shared.

"You made it," Buffy spoke to Xander, not without a mote of relief, and Spike held back his snort. What'd they expect. S'barely a half hour, and then the walking came into effect.

"How's everyone doing, Buffy?" Harris responded, like the good lil' soldier he always was.

"Recovering." Buffy's eyes flashed to Jade, and Spike felt the need to be defensive again. They'd fanned out since leaving the corridor, and Jade was to the side of him now, so that he could see the profile of her face, that she didn't notice the Slayer's blazing green eyes on her. "I need to talk to Jade," Buffy said.

"Know how your talks can go," Spike argued, vehemently, and those eyes turned to him instead, hard and adamant. Bloody hell. He knew how arguing with the chit would turn out, and he didn't think he could take much more of a beating. "Just take it easy on her. S'not her fault." Bet he wouldn't have had to be so convincing if it had been Angel again, no the blood Poof always got a free pass, but—

"Stop protecting her," Buffy snapped. "People have died. My Slayers."

"I just know how single-minded you get, pet. Not a lot of sympathy for the fallen." Spike argued.

"At least my single-mind can fill a tea-kettle," Buffy snapped back. "And you're one to talk. Like you ever listen to anyone but yourself—"

"Enough," Jade declared, loud and suddenly. "I get it. I mean, no, I haven't gotten the whole gist of it, but I've gotten pieces, and I'll make do. Buffy, I'd apologize if it'd make a difference, but I don't think it will. So talk. I'll obey. I'm… just tired of everyone talking about me like I'm not here." Her blue gaze snapped to those in the room, Spike, Angel, and then the Slayers. "I'm here, and I did it. I remember. Mostly." Her voice was strong, but Spike could see how her bottom lip trembled, and he knew how she covered her fear with anger. She stepped forward, towards Buffy, and the blonde gazed back impassively, not moving one muscle, but that didn't mean that each muscle of Buffy wasn't tensed and ready for action. The Slayer part of her wasn't something she could turn off.

"Talk." Jade said again, but her tone was soft instead of discordant. "I'm listening."

Buffy looked back at her, gaze flashing like steel. "San Francisco's down. For now. We've been moving most of our Slayers back to the other bases. Couple to Vi in Los Angeles. Most to Chicago to join Rona, some to New York." Her gaze followed to the others, telling them all, and before Spike could accuse her of rambling, her eyes centered on Jade again. "You'll stay here. Until I say otherwise. You won't be alone. Some of us will be staying, and until we decide what to do with you, you'll stay in your room."

Spike bit back a growl. He knew it wasn't most ruthless of terms, but he didn't like the sodding Judge, Jury and Executioner style way this was playing out.

"I understand." Jade said. "Can I go there now? I'm… kinda hungry."

Xander blanched and took a few large steps back, nearly knocking into Faith, who viewed him with a half-amused, half-teasing expression.

"Careful, Xander. You're probably first on the menu." Faith said it with a fearless smirk, while Buffy viewed Jade coldly. "Xander can show you where your room is." At Xander's grimace, Buffy rolled her eyes. "Faith can come with you."

A displeased look crossed the Dark Slayer's face at being ordered about, her dark eyes flickering behind Spike to where Angel lingered. Spike couldn't see what the big lug did, but it was enough to calm the Slayer, so that she gave a disinterested shrug and stepped along with Xander as he pointed towards one of the halls. Jade followed, and Spike made to as well, but the tiny blonde whirlwind was stopping him, one hand on his very sore chest, and he stopped with a grunt.

"You stay, Spike." Buffy commanded in a steel tone, and he skewed his lips, reluctant. Jade glanced back at him over her shoulder as she followed after Droopy and the Dark Slayer, but she knew better than to argue, so he supposed he shouldn't either. If it made it easier for Jade, then…

"Fine," He agreed, petulantly. "All yours, pet." He shrugged his shoulders, not missing the flash of hurt in Buffy's eyes, and he could tell she was holding her tongue, trying to keep the bitterness from seeping out.

"You know what we came here for, Buffy." Angel was saying. "If you haven't come to your decision yet, then Faith and I will head on."

Buffy's mouth tightened at the 'Faith and I' usage. Poor girl. Felt like the ones she could count on were betraying her all at once, and Spike couldn't help the sympathy he felt for her. He hadn't meant to betray her, or break her heart—hell, he was mostly bloody sure that he couldn't even if he tried. Hadn't thought he meant that much to her. Sometimes it was bloody hard to tell.

"You know you needed Willow for it anyway. Just—stay. For a little while longer. Then if I can give you the help you need, I will."

Angel's brow furrowed. "There are other witches—or warlocks in the world, Buffy. I can look—"

"Just a few more days." Buffy said, dropping the commanding tone to go for one that was gentler, pleading. "A lot has happened. Please?"

Angel nodded, while Illyria blinked, looking bored. "Waiting is not what I'm built for," The woman declared loudly, and Spike had to agree. He didn't get their cryptic bollocks and he was tired of not being part of club, at the same time, he wasn't sure if he cared what they were on about. He 'spected some of it might be to make him jealous, and he waited for the sting of seeing Buffy going all googly eyed for her once-lover, and though it was there, it didn't hurt as bad as it would have. If he didn't have someone else to worry about.

Someone he should be seeing to right now, expect he was part of this bloody council meeting or what have you, in which he was missing most of the sodding details.

"Where's Gwen? I should… I should see her."

"Down that hall. Third door on the left. Giles and Aella went back with her. I made them leave while you were searching for Spike and Jade. Gunn's body is in there, still. She wouldn't leave him." In Buffy's gaze there was a modicum of sympathy, as well as her own grief. Been a few Slayers that hadn't made it either. Angel slunk away like a shadow, Illyria following more slowly behind him, leaving just Spike and Buffy in the center of the room.

First time they'd been alone since… well. Seemed like bloody ages, now. And neither of them could stand the stillness, along with the silence.

He wasn't sure who had moved first, but it seemed so natural when suddenly, both of them were moving in a circle, in opposite directions, like two predators circling each other. And they were predators, Vampire and Slayer, and they'd done this dance before so many times before it was automatic now.

"Are you going to let me do my job, or not?" Buffy asked finally, her green gaze holding his.

"Your bloody job, is it? What job would that be?"

"Being a Slayer." She spat out. "Being the Slayer, running an entire organization. I have a lot of people who depend on me, Spike. Girls. Depend on me to keep them safe, and I lost them today."

" _Some_ of them. Bloody hell, a Slayer's life never had the longest life span, and just 'cause there's more of you now doesn't change that fact. There's more Slayers now, but magic has a way of bloody exacting its price and there's more evil to fight now. Bigger, stronger."

"You're right about evil to fight, but stop trying to make excuses. A Slayer's life is supposed to be short," Buffy's voice was mocking. "What kind of crap is that?"

"Sa bloody truth!"

"You'd say anything, wouldn't you? Spike, damn it, is even _possible_ for you to try to be objective? You always see everyone as the bad guy, like we're all out to get you. I tried to help you, don't you see that?"

"Aye." Spike's voice was hoarse. "An' I am thankful. They said that you'd ordered everyone t'go. Only took the ones who weren't in'nerested in killing Jade. Means something."

"Yeah. I did try. Now why don't _you_ try, and step back and stop _questioning_ _everything I do_. I am not the bad guy here."

"An' Jade is?"

"She's responsible, whether you want to see it or not. She killed people, Spike. _My_ people. And you want her to walk off, free as a bird? You think that's fair to the Slayers she killed? You think she should just be allowed to walk free among them again?"

"Then I'll take her away. Done it before."

"No. That's not a solution either, Spike. Running away to avoid it."

"What d'ya want, then? A bloody trial? Give me a sodding rest."

"Not a trial. But there have to be boundaries. Rules. Something to stop her from doing it again. And there are amends to be made."

"She won't be your puppet."

"I lost people!" Buffy shouted. "Daphne. Grace. Izabella. Zoeica, Faye. Donna. Krystina. Kaitlyn. Jennifer. My Slayers. The witches, Mabel and Claira. Gunn. You want me to just forget it?"

"If it was Angel, you bloody would!" Spike shouted. "If that wanker slaughtered them all, you'd forgive it."

"No. I wouldn't," Buffy replied coldly.

"Y'track record wouldn't quite agree with you."

"This is getting off track," The Slayer hissed, exasperated. "Look. I'm not saying stake her. I know you'd never stand for that."

"Bloody right."

"But there are rules. My rules. And I meant what she said. She's staying in that room until I say otherwise. She doesn't leave, she doesn't go anywhere. And when Willow comes back, whatever measures _we_ see fit are _going_ to happen."

"No."

She broke their unending dance by stepping closer to him, and he stilled, mid-step. "Don't fight me on this, Spike. You can't win."

"Care to test that, pet?"

She gestured at him furiously. "Look at you. Broken wrist. Broken ribs. Bruises all over, bleeding all over. You didn't seem to have most of those _before_ Jade grabbed you."

"I tripped."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head in one fluid motion. "You're unbelievable, Spike."

"Thank you."

"I mean it. This is how it's going to go. She doesn't have to be chained or anything. But she's staying put until I say otherwise. You can agree and I'll let you see her. Much as you want." She said the words slowly, so it was clear how benevolent she was being. "But if you keep pushing me, Spike, I won't." Her gaze was hard, glittering like green steel. "So make your decision now."

He took the step this time, carrying himself towards her. He towered over her, and she gazed back, unflinching, that fire in her eyes. He'd loved that fire. She was like the sun herself, burning everything that was close. And he'd been addicted to it, for so long. Thought there was nothing better. He knew more now. "You need to be fair to her."

"She didn't just go on a random killing spree, Spike, she _sought_ us out. Meant to hurt us."

"No, she sought _me_ out. Didn't want anything else."

"Right. And if you stayed when I asked you to, maybe _you_ could have prevented all the killing by just being there."

He fixed her with a blazing gaze, daring her to look away. "An' would you just have handed me over without so much as a eye-roll?"

She set her teeth firmly and didn't answer. Didn't need to. It was all the answer he needed.

"I _am_ being fair," Buffy said then. "If you could get your head out of—you'd see it."

"Fine," He relented, but his tone wasn't kind. Neither was her answering gaze. "I understand. We won't go anywhere. Be mighty good prisoners. I want to see her, then. Now."

Buffy glanced around briefly, and he hid his smirk. She likely didn't even know she'd done it, glancing about to make sure there wasn't someone else she could pawn this off to. Chosen One had grown up in her big britches, and she never had much shorter of people to order 'round. But seeing as there was no-one else, she relented, and started to take him down the hallway as he asked. Started to, and then there was the clattering of impatient feet on the stony floor, and there the Warlock whelp popped into view.

"Buffy," The man said, and though Spike'd been told his name, he'd forgotten it already. The warlock's concern dissolved into relief. His shoulders rose and fell slightly. Not surprising. Was a skinny looking bloke, and if magicks were his expertise, probably wasn't all that fond of exerting himself. He had considerably dark eyes, made even more so by the likely, with equally near-black hair that flopped in front of his forehead. Boy looked like a nerd more than anything else, like he was likely to be grouped in with the likes of Andrew, and Spike wondered if that was what the connection was. Looked a sight better than he had done back at the Slayer's base, he was no longer as pale or as exhausted look. "I just—just wanted to make sure you got back alright. I didn't think it was really… right to leave you behind."

Buffy smiled, actually smiled back at that twerp, like he was someone important, or 'haps she was just trying to make Spike jealous. "I'm fine, Billy. The danger was done with anyway, and you needed to get some rest. You still do."

"Yeah," Billy nodded his head vigorously. "Yeah, I can now. I'll rest, and start working on those spells for you soon as possible."

"I know," Buffy acknowledged. "Thanks, Billy." It was a dismissal, and the whelp at least realised that much, his dark eyes glancing to Spike briefly behind the rectangular frames on his nose. Bloody spectacles. Spike was sodding gladdened he'd dumped his own so long ago. Had only really needed them for reading, Thank bloody hell for that. Walking around with glasses for the rest of his unlife would have made him look like a right ponce.

"'E's got a thing for you," Spike couldn't help but goad as soon as the man turned tail and disappeared around the corner.

"Shut up, Spike." Buffy said, exasperated.

"Ooh, touchy. 'Fraid little geek might hear me an' want to start crying on your shoulder? Bet it'd be his dream come—"

He earned a punch to the cheek for that, and it bloody hurt. Women and punching him in the face today, been almost more than he could sodding handle.

"He's an old friend of mine, you idiot," Buffy snapped. "I first met him when he was a _child_. He'd been put in a coma, and he was making nightmares become real by accident."

Spike let out a scoff. "Fancy that," he muttered. "Make your nightmares come true, then? What, did you lose your hairdryer?"

"I became a vampire," Buffy said, not without poignancy. Her gaze was cutting, and Spike found he didn't quite have a reply for that.

"Yeh, well. Least you don't have to live it, then." He muttered finally, but his retort wasn't strong on the venom. "Just a nightmare for you."

He got an indignant glower for his trouble. "I also managed to not eat anyone while I was—"

"Don't," He said in a low warning growl. She looked back at him defiantly.

"Point is, Billy's specialty is that astral project thingy. That's how he got back into our world while he was in a coma. He's here to try to snap Willow out of her own dreamland. And he nearly got turned into a corpse for his troubles, so don't make fun of him."

Spike let out a low whistle. "Defensive of him, are you? Still seein' him like you're big sis? Bet he's happy 'bout that. Coupla years mattered then, don't as much now. Least, I'm sure that's what he's hoping."

Buffy made an exasperated sound. "You're impossible, Spike."

"Been told that."

They turned around the corner and saw Faith standing there, leaning against a wall and investigating her broken arm. "You guys decided to show. Good. Bored out of my mind and it's only been a couple minutes," Faith pushed herself off of the wall.

"Where's Xander?" Buffy asked.

"He went to get some blood. It's feeding time."

"You left her in there alone?" Spike growled. He didn't know if any one actually got along with Faith, excluding Angel's little group, but of the two Slayers he was standing with, he knew which one he trusted to judge Jade a little less, and it was the one giving him an indifferent look.

"Hey man, it's what she asked." Faith shrugged. "She wanted to be alone, so I let her. Don't need to get your 'skivvies' in a twist." She said it in a mocked accent.

"Don't wear any."

"Oh yeah?" She smirked, her eyebrows raising suggestively, while Buffy rolled her eyes.

"You two are worse than teenagers," Buffy complained. "All your comments, all the time."

Faith looked interested. "What, were you getting some 'comments' from Spike just now?"

Buffy scowled and didn't get to answer as Xander came around the corner, a box of clinking jars in hand.

"So we're sure we can trust this Manus guy, right? I just ask because he's one, a demon, two, red all over like again, a _demon_ , three, a warlock, and four, he's just got blood all ready."

"Willow said he could be trusted, so, we trust him," Buffy responded immediately.

"Yeah, no, I'm with Xander on this one," Faith made a face. "Guy gives me the creeps. And I'm supposed to keep Illyria from popping his head like a balloon, like she did to this guy's cousin, or whatever." She noticed Spike's eyebrow raise, and sighed. "You know. The one who killed Wes. Cyvus Vail or whatever. This guy's from the same line of creeps as that one. All warlocky too. Makes me feel all warm inside."

"And again, with the Willow trusting, here." Buffy interrupted. "He's giving us sanctuary. And he probably has ears everywhere, or magic, or whatever, so maybe don't talk about the head popping thing."

Xander skewed his mouth in consternation, checking to make sure there were in fact, not ears everywhere, likely still reeling from the thousand eyes they'd seen when they'd visited Clarity.

"And how is Willow?" Faith asked, narrowing her eyes a bit. "Still off in La La Land?"

Buffy raised her hand as if for reprieve. "I get it. Everyone wants a piece of Willow, for this that or whatever. Me included." She said the last part quietly, under her breath, so that it slipped by the human's ears, but not Spike's. "We're working on it. Now that we don't have to worry about dying in a parking lot," She shot a glare so blazing at Spike, he knew she didn't want a gibe. "Billy's going to try the ritual again, tomorrow. See if we can bring her back."

"Well, I hope it works. I was afraid Kennedy was going to punch someone last time. Namely, me. I'm afraid for myself, here."

"Well, don't worry. Guess you got some over-qualified body guards 'til Angel says otherwise." Faith's dark gaze flitted between Xander and Buffy, and then the Dark Slayer shrugged. "Anyway. I'll leave you to it. Gotta go pay my respects to Gunn, you know? Decent guy. Didn't deserve what happened to him." And though she'd been surprisingly neutral before, she looked pointedly at Spike, and he knew even though she was playing the nonpartisan, keeping Illyria and Gwen from going too far, she wasn't sure to forget anytime soon. And he knew he should follow her example before too long. Had his own respects to pay to Charlie Boy.

Didn't think Gwen would be too bloody happy 'bout seeing him though, so maybe in a few she'd have calmed down a bit and he didn't have to worry about getting jolted to ashes.

Yeah, definitely later.

First, he had someone else to see.

"Give me that, Harris," Spike reached his hands around the box of jars and took it from the one-eyed man. "Sure it's animal blood?"

"Yeah, I mean, I tasted it and I just knew. I don't know, Spike. That's what Mr. Not evil Manus said."

He arched an eyebrow and unscrewed one of the lids, balancing the box as good as he could while not shaking the bloody hell out of his broken wrist. Yeah, he definitely needed something to eat as well. He took a sharp inhale. Yep. Definitely animal blood. And it was labeled, he could see now, looking down. Huh. Pig's blood, Chimp? Otter, some monkeys, he thought. Yeah, least there was a selection, though he'd best stick to something she was familiar with. Pig's blood it would be, even if it wasn't the tastiest of animal bloods. He closed the lid again, then, turning towards the door.

"You can see her, Spike. But remember, she doesn't leave until I say so. And I will post Slayers on the outside." Buffy reiterated firmly.

"Don't need to waste your womanpower," he ground back. "And don't bother us 'less it's a bloody 'mergency or you bring blood. Bird needs time to heal."

Buffy scoffed. "Yeah, as if she's the victim here."

"Jus' as much as the rest of you," Spike said in a low, serious tone, daring the two of them to meet his gaze. Xander couldn't, his one eye flickering off into the unassuming corridor, but Buffy held on longer, until she too shrugged.

"Have fun," Buffy said coldly, although he suspected it was to cover up a measure of hurt, but he thought on it no more, because he was turning the handle to Jade's room and stepping inside. She needed him, and he'd be here. No matter who scoffed at him, no matter what it bloody took.


	16. Chapter 16

**16**

"So it's here, and down here, and then I think we go here…" Xander was mumbling to himself as he led Jade and Faith down the hall. Jade didn't think Faith was aware of Xander's mutterings, but she could hear every word.

"Have you been here before?" Jade asked to break the silence, because even Faith hadn't been saying much, toying with a sharp knife she'd pulled from her belt.

"Yeah, yeah. Know it like the back of my hand. I just haven't been here in a while. And it was just the once. Didn't really expect to be using it so soon." Xander answered.

"Well that's your bad," Faith commented. "Don't you gotta be ready for anything? Since you're one of the top guns now?"

"Are you jealous?"

Faith snorted. "Not a bit."

She was grateful to be the shadow, at least for right now. They weren't talking about her, just bickering among themselves, old banter that she could ignore. She could see how Faith favored her broken arm, how it was tied tight to her stomach in a makeshift sling, until Slayer healing could accelerate it a little, still, a broken arm wouldn't exactly heal overnight. And she was tempted to apologize, but what good would it do, even if she made it sound sincere. She'd killed a close friend of Faith and countless others, and she doubted excuses were what anyone wanted to hear out of her mouth.

She didn't know what to say so it was better not to say anything. Silence would be a welcome change. It'd allow her to listen to the drumming in her head, the outcry that she should be focused on, and not was going on around her. The thought of staying in a room until Buffy told her otherwise didn't bother Jade as much as it could have. She was sore all over. It hurt to move, to _breathe_ if she still did that. And she wanted to be alone. Not to have anyone look at her with the ire she deserved. She didn't want pity either. She just wanted some quiet.

She was relieved when Xander finally stopped at the door. "This one."

"Are you sure?" Faith sounded bored.

"I'm sure." Xander turned reached for the door and opened it. Like much of what she'd seen so far of the underground, it had an old look about it. Carved stone walls, and flickering candles. There was even a tapestry on the wall—somewhat unnerving, until she stepped closer into the room and found a modern looking bathroom with a shower, sink and a toilet in it. And mirrors, not that she'd have any use out of those. All in all, it was fine. No windows. A large enough bed and a couple of chairs, mirroring the hotel rooms back in the Slayer's base in San Francisco. Nothing but the necessities. No TV either, but there was a book shelf. She didn't care. It was fine. She noted there was no fridge, no real appliances of any sort, but that was fine. Just as long as they remembered to bring her blood.

Thinking of blood, she was reminded again of her hunger. It was only a small nudge, but she didn't want to see it grow any further. Her wounds hurt badly, especially her shoulder, where she'd must have been hit by—

— _A crossbow bolt hit me? Actually hit me. Ow, fucking hell my hands are burning. Holy shit. Assholes covered the bolts in water so I can't even grab them out of the air, think they're so clever, do they? This holy water burning my hands and of course so many of them are wearing crosses in case I get too close. So annoying. Ah, vampires, so fucking invulnerable, except for fire, crosses, sunlight, holy water, wood, even a stupid pencil. I should be unstoppable. I am. They think an arrow in my shoulder can stop me—fucking should have aimed for the heart. Ow, damn shit, at least it's out now, burning my good hand to do it. Well I only need one hand. Or one arm. A damn toe is enough. Won't stop me, I'll kill them all—_

Jade shuddered. Not unlike the memory of Gunn dying—not dying but being _killed_. Pain and rage. That's all there had been. So hateful. Just wanted violence. Jade glanced down at her hands, which bore the marks, both fresh and older burns. It was like knowing the picture on the puzzle box, and now she was trying to find out where the pieces fit in. So that's where she got that cut from or that burn, or that…

And soon enough she'd get to relive, in all detail, just how Spike had gotten his too.

She made her way to the bed and sat down heavily.

"I'll get you the blood," Xander said, and she was grateful she didn't have to ask again, although there was no mistaking the slight distaste that crossed the man's features at the thought of blood as sustenance. She knew she'd been like that once. She hadn't liked when her lips were chapped and biting at the dead skin would cause her lip to bleed. She hated the taste, the iron tang. Blood in her medium rare steaks were okay, as long as there wasn't too much, but her own blood, the taste of it had just been repugnant to her. And now she craved it. Could hear the thump-thump-thump in the room as Xander walked loudly out of it, the only sound now was Faith's beating heart.

And Faith looked back at her, calculating, thinking. She didn't have much blood on her, at least not from any of her own open wounds, and for that Jade was grateful. She didn't need anything else to stir her hunger.

"I'm not one for the big long silence," Faith admitted only a minute after Xander had left. "I'm no mind-reader, either. Tend to say what's on my mind even though most people don't like to hear it, you know?"

"So what's on your mind?" Jade asked. Though last time she and Faith hadn't exactly seen eye to eye, Jade realised why that was. It had been on the mission to rescue the Slayers and fight Mandy, and Jade had gone along with Spike, but Angel hadn't allowed Faith to come with him. So any anger Faith had shown then, towards Jade, Jade understood. She would have reacted the same way if she hadn't been allowed to come with Spike.

"I guess I owed you a thanks," Faith started, as if she'd been reading Jade's mind, thinking of the last time they'd met, too. "I was all gung-ho about the killing Slaypire-bitch—no offense—back then, but it might have ended me with doing the whole dead thing and I don't think I could pull it off. I like to look edgy without looking too Goth, you know? And I don't think I could pull it off as well if I was as white as—"

"Me," Jade supplied.

"You or the pasty twins." Faith laughed, then her expression grew more solemn. "Look, I'm pretty pissed off that you killed my friend. I'm not going to get over it like that," she snapped her fingers. "But I also have moved passed the kicking people while they're down stage, so you don't have to worry about me trying to stake you in your sleep. Not really my style, anyway." She twitched her large, full lips into a slight smirk. "Plus, it's not good for Buffy's ego if everyone goes along with everything she says all the time, so I'll have a bit of fun with that."

Jade nodded, for lack of anything to say. She hadn't really expected Faith to be lenient towards her at all, especially after the killing of Gunn, and it was comforting. She might not have had big sway with the Slayers, since she spent her time in Angel's crew instead, but Faith was still a powerful friend to have. Or at least a friend, of which Jade didn't think she had many left.

"Well. You good by yourself? As I said, not a happy camper about Gunn, so don't expect me to keep you company in this hole."

Jade smiled, or perhaps it was a grimace. "That's okay. I don't mind being alone." She preferred it really, even now, in the company of not-a-friend but not-going-to-tear-her-throat-out-either Faith. She didn't want to push it. She had a truce, and for now, that was comforting enough.

"Good. I'm sure your boy toy will be along soon anyway." Faith moved towards the door.

"He's not my—" Jade felt compelled to say, although it was just to the Slayer's back.

"Whatever," Faith threw back in a disinterested, tone, and she had stepped up to the door and through it before Jade could say anything else. She found it didn't matter. She hadn't felt embarrassed by Faith's comment, as she might have been, and the _whatever_ resonated through her. She just felt resigned. It didn't matter. She laid back on the bed, then sat upright again as her back protested painfully to being used. She remembered Spike told her she made that hole in the floor, or she guessed it had been the ceiling from where they had been at first, and she could tell. She was sore all over.

But she was still alive—sort of. She supposed it was only fair that it hurt this much. She was lucky. Lucky. Her hand curled into a fist, as least as much as it could before her pained fingers refused to bend further. She didn't feel lucky. She felt… well, she felt angry. Furious. A deep, simmering rage that should have shut off, shouldn't it? It's what she felt in all her memories, but it shouldn't still be here.

She was so glad for the silence. She stretched out on the bed again, this time on her side, but avoiding the shoulder that'd been burnt by the crossbow bolt. That was better, but not by much.

It wasn't long enough before she heard footsteps and voices outside her door. Normally, curiousity got the better of her, but not now. She had enough sound in her head, so that she covered her ears with her hands. Silence. She just wanted quiet, and…

The door was creaking open again, and she could tell it wasn't Xander. Humans were easy to smell. Blood, sweat and tears. That's all they were. Especially blood.

And there was blood now. She could hear it in the clinking of familiar jars, and she sat up immediately, drawn to it. And there was Spike holding the box of blood, as she knew it was him. But she felt disappointment, not relief, and it didn't make much sense. She knew no-one was really 'on her side'. They were sympathetic, mostly. And angry. Spike was the one, he'd defended her repeatedly. Vehemently. And seeing him always brought comfort. But not now. Not while he bore cuts and bruises from _her_. Not while she felt like this, shamed and disgusted, and she couldn't bear his pity or his understanding. Could barely look at him right now.

"Brought y'something to eat," he said casually, stepping over to one of the end tables and setting down the box. His shirt was still open. He hadn't had a chance to change yet. Neither had she. A dress. Whatever persuaded her to put one on? At least she wore tights under it, but she didn't have the breasts for such a low neckline. She wanted to rip it off, but she had nothing to replace it right now, so she pulled the top layer blanket from the bed and wrapped it around herself, hiding every last trace of the red dress. Spike's blue gaze flickered to her but he didn't say anything, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked on opening a jar with only one hand. It was easy enough for him, and he held it over to her as he sat in a chair next to the table.

"Pig's blood. Bit more options, if y'like, but none you've tried before."

"Pig's blood is fine." And it would have to be, because she was hungry. There wasn't a way she could see to warm it up, although surprisingly, the jar wasn't that cold to touch when she wrapped her fingers around it. She tipped the edge of the jar to her lips and took in a large mouthful.

And promptly spat it out.

"Bloody hell!" Spike swore, and she swore too, dismayed to see that she'd gotten some on the blanket around her. She went to rip it off, but there was no point now, it was already dirty. "What is it? Gone bad?" He was concerned, like he thought the blood had been poisoned, and he'd stood up from where he'd been sitting and promptly walked over to her and took the jar out of her hand before she had a chance to say anything, sniffing it himself.

"It didn't smell past due," He was muttering to himself.

"It isn't." She said. Quietly, too quietly. She resisted the urge to blanch, to spit every last bit of it out, to get the disgusting taste off of her tongue. She couldn't look straight at him, and she felt his hand tighten around her arm through the blanket she wrapped around her and he jerked her, and unintentionally, she raised her gaze to look at his. His eyes bore down on her with such a grasp of their own, tighter than the fingers curled around her arm.

"Then what is it? Bloody hell, Super Girl, what's the matter with it?"

She wouldn't cry. She was disgusted she even felt the impulse to, felt her eyes watering and her bottom lip trembling. She wouldn't cry. She'd cover it with fire instead. "It tastes awful." She forced out between gritted teeth. Let the understanding dawn on him then.

"'Cause you've had human blood," He said. And it wasn't necessary to say aloud. She knew that, of course, and _he'd_ known it, because it was inevitable. She'd lost her soul. Of course she'd tasted human blood. Probably went right out looking for it

— _Oh finally. What does it taste like? He's so small he's barely amouthful. He'll do. Won't fill up and then I can move on to the next one. Find my favorites. He's succulent and mouthwatering. Mouthbloodying? Should really coin a term. Drink, drink, drink, and that heartbeat flutters. Fluttering and now it's stopping. Oh, I need more. So much more. That was young blood, was it? Then I have to find a girl too, and I have to sample all the blood types of course. God, there's an energy. Drinking from a person, sucking their life away. And I've been drinking from fucking jars all this time, well never again—_

She felt like she'd been punched in the gut. She'd killed a boy. A ten year old boy. She didn't know his name, and she didn't know if that should make her feel worse or better that she hadn't known who he was. She'd broken off his glasses and let them lay in the dirt and she'd drank from him until his body went still. He'd only begged once, and after his cry of pain, when her fangs had sunk into his throat, he'd whimpered, and then his breaths grew ragged, and then cut out completely.

"And Slayer blood," Jade couldn't help but say, her tone hoarse.

Spike was still standing there, watching her, hand, gripping her arm. "Salright," he said, his eyes carrying sympathy now. Sympathy! As if she deserved that. Hadn't he known what she'd done, who she'd fed from? "S'not the best. You'll get used to it. Here." He snatched the jar from her hands and put it back in the box, closing it up tight and twisting the jars around, looking for labels. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, wishing she could get the taste out.

Human blood would do the trick.

And she closed her eyes tight, but it wasn't until she felt a slight pain across the back of her hand that she realised she'd slipped into game face. Probably had when she'd started drinking, although the shock of the revolting taste had beaten it back, she could feel the ridges form on her forehead. Just at the thought of human blood.

"'Ere's some Marmoset. 'Sposed to be pretty close to human blood." Spike was lifting the jar and handing it to her, open.

"Marmoset? The tiny monkeys?" Jade couldn't help but snap, the words tumbling from her in a scathing tone. "Are you sure you don't have kitten or puppy blood in there?"

His dark brow furrowed, lowering closer to his captivating blue gaze, his forehead wrinkling. "Jus' take it. Need some bloody food in you."

 _Yeah, or I'll eat the next human to come near me_ , the thought was bitter, and her fingers shook with barely contained anger. Here he was, treating her like someone who needed nursing back to health. Was all wrong. She took the jar from him, choosing to obey him but in a jerky snappish way that didn't really satisfy her at all. No defiance there, but she raised her lips to the glass, feeling her teeth scrape it. Liquid poured into her throat, and she felt her stomach tighten in a tremor, and she resisted the urge to wretch. It wasn't as bad. Wasn't as bad as the pig. She told herself that as she forced it down, just one large gulp, swallowing hard.

She didn't think vampires vomited. She at least really hoped they didn't.

"Better?" He tried his best to keep the triumph out of his tone but she envisioned it there anyway, like she was a good little girl who'd done her homework.

"Yes." She forced the word from between her teeth. And because she knew he'd make her drink more to help speed the healing process, and since he _knew_ how much blood she normally needed to uptake, especially to heal herself, she forced another three mouthfuls down, hating every drop. She thrust the jar back at him, half-empty. "That's enough for me."

She watched him pass his tongue across his teeth, something he did while his mouth was closed, which always made his lips skew a little and his jaw tighten, his cheekbones somehow more prominent. He was debating, and then relented, taking it back from her, and going to the Pig's blood she'd neglected and opened it for himself.

She sat back down on the bed, wrapping the blanket tightly around herself as if it was a protective barrier. She watched Spike sip at the jar, a surge of irritation rising in her as he slowly drank. He meant to sit there then, and she found she couldn't stand company, not now.

"I'm going to try to get some sleep," She said.

Spike tilted his head. "Might be best ta see to your wounds first."

He was one to talk. He was covered in more blood than her. She had burns more than anything else, but those were closed wounds. Except for her shoulder… and she noticed his eyes glancing there too. Damn it all, sometimes it was like she still had him in her head even without those stupid rings.

"I can do that." _Myself_ , she wanted to say, but she lost courage for the last word. She didn't _want_ to push him away, make him think he wasn't wanted. He just wasn't, right now.

He frowned again. She knew she wasn't all that good with subtlety, but she didn't care.

"I'm here. Better make some bloody use of me. I still got one hand." And he meant it as a joke, a casual comment as he raised his hand and twiddled his fingers while his other laid limp, due to the broken wrist he had been cradling to his chest. That chest—would have been enough to take her breath away if she still breathed. It was like one of those perfectly carved marble statues, one she would have loved to reach out and touch. Except it was a little bit marred by spots of black and blue and purple.

"No, I'm fine."

This time he didn't try to defuse her with humour. His eyes narrowed and he sat up straighter in his chair. "What's this 'bout?" He sounded wary.

"About?" She scoffed. God damn him for acting so casual, trying to be understanding while he was confused. Being so. Damn. Gentle. "What do you think it's about?"

His teeth showed in a light grimace as his jaw grinded. "Look, luv. I know your head's a bit muddled at the moment, all sorts of things in it, so 'f I did something wrong, I'm bloody sorry, and—"

"Stop." She raised her good hand and curled it into a fist, knocking her brow against it as she leaned into her hand. Closing her eyes, at least she didn't have to see him. "Stop treating me like _I'm_ the victim, alright?"

She moved her hand away to see him staring at her. He looked lost, contrite, then his dark eyebrows gathered closer together in a frown. "This in't your fault."

 _Yes it was_. "Yes it _is_ , Spike. It is _exactly_ my fault." He opened his mouth to argue, and she didn't want it to turn into one of those 'yes it is', 'no it isn't' debates because she was frustrated enough already. "I did it. Just me. You're right, I haven't got the whole picture yet, so I'm sure there's some bloodshed and mayhem that I've missed. Can't wait to catch up on those episodes. And no, there was no magic involved, nothing that turned me into a puppet. It was _me_. I did this. I killed a child." She felt her throat tighten. "Gunn. I tried to hurt you. Who knows what else. That was me. So I don't need you defending me, damnit. I'm not the one who needs defending. I'm the one who _did_ all that. They're the ones who need protection from me."

"You weren't in your right mind," Spike said quietly.

"Actually, my mind was just fine."

"Soul, then. Y'know what I bloody mean."

"I don't want to see you right now, Spike." She sighed, feeling weary. If there was anyone who shook her up and twisted her upside down it was him, and she was just too tired. She couldn't look at Spike without feeling that guilt twist around her, tighter and tighter. She looked at him, tried to stare him straight in the eye so he'd know she meant it. She saw the hurt flash through his blue gaze, and she felt guilty, but at the same time, pleased. Maybe he'd find it harder to pity her now. "I just want to be alone."

"Yeh." He said, surprisingly tame. Too tame, pushing himself up from the chair, and she felt hopeful for a moment, that'd he just leave and that'd be it, but he took a step towards her instead, his duster sweeping behind his legs, the piece of clothing that had suffered the least in whatever had transpired.

"Easier to feel sorry for yourself if you're alone, innit?" He said then, and her eyes snapped away from his dark jacket back up to his face. His eyes were unwavering, though not inexorable; he wasn't being cruel. He was just being his normal honest self, where he said what he was feeling no matter how brutal it was. And she couldn't handle it, not now, because he always knew what to say to pierce through her walls, like he could see her so clearly and she couldn't hide a thing in the world from him, and she didn't want to be vulnerable, not now.

Her throat closed up before she could force words out, which might have been a blessing, for she had nothing intelligent to retort with. Nothing but short, snappish statements, because she wasn't as eloquent as Spike was, couldn't get to the heart of the matter of it all with just words. She had nothing to say that surmised how she was feeling.

"By all means, bloody turn out the one who's on your sodding side so you can wallow in your guilt."

Now her anger gave her ammunition. She rose to her feet as well, though it was no graceful bounce, but an awkward lurch, the blanket around her constricting movement, and the various aches and bruises that had done their best to make her legs feel stiff and awkward. "I didn't _ask_ you to be on my side," She snapped.

"Yeh," Spike deadpanned. "You didn't have to."

" _They_ deserve the comforting here, not me!" She couldn't get it through his thick skull. He was still just standing there, the picture of loyalty, his face not enough to mask the pity he felt for her, and she couldn't look at him anymore. "I want to be alone." She repeated _._ There wasn't enough command in her tone, not like in Buffy's. Jade didn't have that aura of a leader, that was for sure. She couldn't even make Spike leave her alone. And that should have made her feel light and happy and warm inside, but not now. Now it just twisted the dagger further in.

"Fine." Spike forced out. There was no hurt in his eyes anymore, just indignation and annoyance. She was surprised that he relented, but she wouldn't allow herself to be disappointed. He went to the box, taking out the remaining Marmoset blood and leaving it on the table, taking the rest of the blood into his one good arm and swirling towards the door. He paused right before he reached the doorknob and turned back towards her, his eyes narrowed. "Jus' be bloody thankful that it's only three days y'got to remember. An' not a hundred and twenty two." Then with a muted 'buggering hell' under his breath, he pushed at the door knob with his bad hand and stepped through, the door slamming closed behind him.

She sank back onto the bed, letting the blanket fall off her shoulders. She wasn't sure how long she just sat there. With Spike's absence, she felt an ache, but it wasn't as big as the one she felt in his presence. And seeing _her_ handiwork, all over his body, the bruises, the blood. She closed her eyes, but it didn't block out the image of it, no, that one she kept seeing in her mind, along with too many others.

Eventually, she let out a ragged sigh, it might have very well been a sob to match the tears on her cheeks. Sitting here and trying to remember could only do so much, since she _was_ remembering and hated every second of it. She was exhausted and drained and she hoped sleep could bring her some quiet. But first she ran her fingers along the hem of her dress and ripped it, the whole thing off of her. She didn't want a trace of it. But since she didn't have a garbage bin, or wanted to try to flush it down the toilet, she balled up the remains of the dress and flung it into the dark corner where she didn't have to look at it anymore. Next were the tights, even if they _were_ something she'd actually wear, she didn't want to see them anymore. She didn't want a trace of what evil her had chosen.

And she wished it was so simple, imagining she'd simply been an evil clone, some sort of changeling. If it wasn't still _her_. But she didn't want to think of it anymore. The leggings were exiled to the same corner of the room, and she laid back on the bed, in nothing but her bra and her underwear. _That_ she didn't feel fit to remove, because she felt small and vulnerable enough right now, she didn't need to add being naked to that. She brought her hand up to her shoulder, feeling tenderly along the skin, a shudder in her stomach. God, that hurt. The holy water had burned away flesh from the inside and out, and she wondered how long that would take to heal.

She pinched it hard, then, gasping a bit at the agony, but it was comforting too. _Deserved that_. She stared up at the ceiling as she pulled the blanket around herself, hoping desperately that she'd be able to get some sleep now.

 _Deserved that and more._

 **AN:** _Thank you for all the wonderful reviews I've been getting. It's really nice to have feedback that makes me think and motivates me, especially since lately I've been having a harder and harder time getting writing down. But you all keep me going, and I hope to eventually make it up to you for your patience, for this slowest of slow burns :). Thank you to all my readers, and to ViviH88, sunmaster14, xXbriannaXx, LovingAnything, MarshWolffe and BarbyChan4ever. for your lovely reviews that I look forward to after posting, and sorryforruiningyourlivesallthetime. 3_


	17. Chapter 17

**17**

He jostled the box a bit too hard as he stepped into the hall, and one of the jars tipped, cracking soundly against another. It broke then, one of the otter jars, and blood poured soundly through, sticking to the other jars, to the bottom of the box.

"Bloody hell," He snapped, realising then that he wasn't alone. Two Slayers were outside the door, as Buffy had promised, and he scoffed lightly in their direction. Their faces were drawn, but not haunted, and Spike could tell that these two hadn't been among the party to stay and try to capture Jade. Otherwise they'd be a lot more trembly in their skivvies.

"Here," He shoved the box into one of the chit's arms, a rather large looking broad who he'd wager had more strength at her disposal than flexibility. "Take that back to Manus or whatever the bloke's called. Tell 'im I want more Marmoset. Or chimps."

The chit blinked back at him, then her round face turned into one of disapproval. "Buffy told us to stay here and guard."

Spike had already backed away, shrugging. "Which is the boringest bloody job you can get, so congratulations to your buggering bad luck." Two pairs of rebelling eyes found his, and he sighed, rolling his eyes. "She's sleepin'. Ain't going to go anywhere. One of you can pop that off right quick, or give it to someone else roaming the halls. I'll be back in a jiff."

He wasn't. The moment the Slayers hesitated, he turned on his heel and walked down the halls, both hoping he'd run into someone to distract him and bloody well wanting everyone to leave him alone.

The last thing he could stand right now was a comment. Maybe that's what he deserved, running after Jade like he was the bloody white knight, ready to pluck her from the throes of sodding darkness, but he'd learned his lesson, hadn't he? She didn't want a thing to do with him, not now. And it shouldn't have hurt, but it sodding did. Worse than his buggering wrist or ribs. And he knew. Knew why. She was suffering, and the chit didn't know how to ask for help. Wanted to do it all by her own like the Slayer she still was. "Annoying bints," He muttered out loud. He just wanted to help her, damnit, but he couldn't do it like this, could he? Not in leaving her alone like she'd asked, where she didn't have a person to turn to.

And he was _here_. Bloody hell, he didn't give a damn about what she'd done. He had forgiveness and devotion, and all she wanted right now was anger and pain. Well, he could give her that too. Bloody yell at her until he was blue in the face if it'd help her. Not that he'd likely get any bluer, not needing to draw breath as he did.

The halls were a bit of a maze to him. He wasn't sure how far they extended or where exactly they led to, and he wouldn't have been curious at all about the matter if Jade hadn't asked him to leave. He'd be just bloody content with sitting there with her. Now he looked about, as if was doing something important and not just trying to kill time. He'd return eventually, and she'd better treat him a bit more civilized when he did.

He let out a sigh then, leaning against the wall. He tried to be angry, but he wasn't, not really. He did understand, even if his experiences differed somewhat. He hadn't gotten mad at the world when he'd had over a hundred years of memories to sift through. He'd just hated himself. Self-loathing so thick he'd thought he'd strangle himself on it. And it'd made him nearly bug-shagging crazy, although the First had helped with that a bit, it was only after he returned to SunnyHell that it'd nearly done him in to Dru's level. Minus talking to the stars bit, he'd chosen conversing with rats instead.

Wouldn't be that way for her. He'd help her through it. He bloody well hoped.

Walking down another hallway that looked exactly the same as the other ones, this time he heard voices. Familiar ones. Quiet and respectful, he knew who'd be in this room before he even stepped through it.

He was right. Angel, looking as solemn and as drab as ever, Faith now at his side, standing all too close, the two of them standing like a picture of innocence, though Spike wasn't one to be fooled. Illyria stood further away, her expression one of stone. In the middle, there was Gunn, less bloodied and dirty than he was before, looking all too immaculate. Wasn't the Charlie Boy he knew. The blood and dust suited him better. He was a fighter, and for a human, he'd been sodding decent. And his broad Gwen rested by the bed he was on, her bare hand gripping his, though it was obvious that despite all the electricity she might pump through his body, there was no reanimation 'bout to happen, like with Frankenstein's monster. Better that way. Zombie territory was nasty stuff, and Spike didn't want to see his friend brought back like that. 'Cause he had been a friend, true and proper, and it wouldn't be what Charlie Boy would have wanted, running around like spoiled meat.

Apparently Gwen wouldn't agree with him, her countenance was turned to the last woman in the room, the one who wasn't part of Angel's little group, the witch, Aella. He hadn't seen her before this whole mess, but the way she'd been clung to by Giles, well there was obviously something going on there, and he eyed her critically. Could see why she caught Rupert's eye, he supposed. She was pretty enough, even if she did hold herself like some amazon warrior, and she was only slightly shorter than Spike himself, maybe an inch off, though it was hard to tell with the thick springiness of her hair.

"Why can't you?" Gwen was challenging the witch. Aella's eyes gleamed back, nearly gray in the bad lighting of the room, with nothing but candles lighting it. Spike watched Angel and Faith share a look, and they'd noticed him, although Gwen hadn't, demanding help from a source that wasn't going to deliver.

"Witches can't be bringing the dead back to life at a whim." Aella responded, her voice clear, and she seemed like a tenacious one, but for now, she played the understanding party, answering with patience.

"That… Willow's done it! So when you say witches, you just mean the weak ones." Gwen snapped back. Faith rolled her eyes, though she had a gleam of pity in those dark orbs. She wasn't exactly the comforting type, likely didn't know what to do with the devastated woman. But Angel kept a sympathetic expression on his face, of course. Wanker'd be understanding until it killed him, though Spike could tell this conversation had been going on for a while. Gwen was going in circles, not able to deal with her grief.

"It's not weak to stand by morals and rules that are put down for good reason." Aella responded, this time with a bit of irritation, her lips pursed, but she calmed then, the compassion back in her eyes. "Sorry. I can't help you. If any of you do decide you need healing, _that_ I can help with." Spike noticed the woman was still clutching her arm protectively, so she hadn't quite done her own yet. Which meant she was on the incompetent side or the White Knight side who wanted to make sure everyone else was better before checking on herself, and he didn't know which was worse. Aella stepped towards the door, and that was when she noticed him.

"Spike," She said with a quick nod, and enough recognition in her eyes that Spike was sure Rupert had given her the full spiel on all things him. Sure Rupert hadn't glossed over the damning details either, no, of course those had to be delivered in full, lest something be forgotten, but there was no loathing or dislike in Aella's eyes, just a wariness. She had to pause while he still stood in front of the door. He noted her gaze flickering over his chest, where the bruises stood out proud, and in a rare occurrence, he felt self-conscious. Not in the fact that his torso was mainly bare, hell, he knew his body was something to display proudly, and that he did. It was the critical way that her eyes looked over all the wounds and cuts, knowing that Jade was the one who put them there. And he didn't want anyone bloody judging Jade for that, 'cause it wasn't damn well fair. He shifted his duster so it would cover his front more, and hid his discomfort with a sneer.

"Rupe's woman." He responded, although he knew her name, he hadn't exactly gotten the full report like she had on him.

She had the grace to flush, although she looked back at him defiantly. Not denying it, he noticed. "Aella," She corrected him firmly.

"Pleasure," he responded, enjoying the way she tilted her head to decide if he was being sincere or not. He still stood in the doorway, and she was unable to pass, so he knew she was about to ask him when he simply turned and allowed it.

She nodded in quiet relief. "Thank you," She said more haughtily than candidly and stepped past him, disappearing into the hall.

It was now that Gwen noticed him, tearing her red-rimmed eyes away from Charlie's corpse. "You!" She snapped.

"Me," Spike responded back placidly. He'd keep his distance with this one. Didn't want to risk his innards and his outer getting a good shock of lightning that'd turn him into dust. "Came to pay my respects."

Gwen snorted, or it might have been a hiccup. "Sure you did. Trying to get rid of your guilt, are you?"

She was trying to make _him_ angry, trying to lash out. Hell, he could understand that too. He hadn't exactly been a sodding diplomat when he'd been trying to get Jade's soul back, worried for her wellbeing. Even the ones who'd tried to help him, he'd lashed at them anyway. But that was sort of his shtick, wasn't it?

"No," He answered honestly. Seeing Charlie's dead body didn't exactly take away the guilt, and he'd be naïve to hope that it would have.

Gwen narrowed her eyes, pushing herself off from the table where Gunn laid. He noticed both Angel and Faith tense, at the ready, but Gwen was shrugging, throwing her hair behind her shoulder. "I need a bit of air." She rose and crossed towards the door, which Spike was all too quick to abandon, back over by Angel and Faith instead. "Don't take your time," Gwen snapped at the white-haired vampire before leaving.

Spike glanced towards Angel and Faith to see another look pass between them. Faith sighed.

"Yeah boss, I'll keep an eye out." She stepped away from the hulking vampire, looking at Spike. "Knock yourself out," was her dry comment as she followed Gwen out. It was lacking a bit of her normal punch, which Spike suspected had something to do with general exhaustion and the somber attitude of the room. Also probably was why Gwen hadn't gone sodding postal on Spike.

Respect. Respect for the man in the middle, whose eyes were closed and wouldn't open again, for the life he'd lived and the company he'd kept. Even speaking loud seemed forbidden, and everyone had spoken in hushed, careful tones, not wanting to disturb the peace. Finally a peace for the man who'd fought most of his life. A sodding warrior if ever there was one.

"Another good one." Spike said aloud, after a few long moments. Even Illyria had been quiet. Though she'd looked down on all of them in the beginning, imagining herself still an Old God, she still held affection for Charles. Suspected it had something to do with Fred, if she was still in there, though all the signs pointed to 'no'. Just her memories. She'd been a sweet woman too. Caring and brilliant.

Angel nodded, his dark eyes riveted on the man in the middle. "Yeah." And the silence stretched out for longer, until the older vampire broke it. "Doyle. Cordelia. Wes. Fred." Illyria looked up sharply at the mention of Fred, but she didn't disagree. It was true. They were all dead and gone. "Gunn." Angel finished. And Spike knew the git. Peaches blamed him for every single one of those deaths, and more. Still, it'd just bolster his desire to keep on with the good fight. Always would, even if Angel was the last one going, and he had nothing but their names with him.

When Spike left the room, he felt drained. Hadn't even taunted Angel once, or reminded him to keep away. He could hear footsteps coming closer, knew it was Gwen and Faith returning, so he turned the other way. Knew he should probably get some sleep. He was knackered, but he hadn't asked where _his_ room was, and since everyone likely assumed he'd just be with Jade, he didn't have the spine to correct them.

He found a corner that seemed empty enough and sat there against the wall for a while, closing his eyes for a bit of kip. It wasn't much, and he was on his feet again, wondering how much time could be spent before he'd be able to return to Jade, see how she was doing. Hours came and went, but he didn't build up the courage for it until he'd found Xander, managed to get some clothes and more blood out of the whelp. Clothes for him, since this place was apparently stocked, and some for Jade as well.

Still, he felt nervous as he approached Jade's door again, a different two Slayers watching it this time. It'd been most of the day now. He wasn't sure how many Slayers still remained here, who hadn't left to the remaining bases, but it was mainly the wounded that stayed put, with a few extra as protection. Likely not just from Jade, but in general. While they couldn't move to a safer place, Buffy wanted her Slayers as secure as they could be. Spike didn't care about it overmuch. He wasn't going anywhere.

Not until Jade was.

He stepped into the dark room, and he wasn't immediately attacked—verbally or physically—so that was a good thing. He placed the blood back on the table, his eyes flickering towards the bed. Jade was there, only her face visible, swathed in blankets, and it was an endearing look for her, her eyes closed, expression relaxed. But not quite peaceful. She hadn't noticed him enter the room, still sleeping. But not fitlessly, he could see her toss and turn beneath the blankets, her head lolling from side to side.

And he might be tempted, to watch her sleep, if a whimper didn't leave her throat, and he noticed then that her hands were gripped into a very tight ball, fingers digging into tender, burnt flesh. She had a habit of talking in her sleep, he'd noticed, sentences strung together that made very little sense, and often transposed with some superfluous comments from her Star Trek and Star Wars things that she loved so much, which made her sleep-talking completely nonsensical and admittedly endearing. But not now, not with the pain in her voice.

He reached her bed, nothing thinking for a moment of why he shouldn't, and reached for her neck through the blanket, pushing away the fabric so he could get one of his hands around her thin, slim shoulder and shake.

"Super girl," he muttered, and then shook her again when her eyes still stayed closed. "Jade, wake up." He leaned onto the bed, one knee in the sheets, as close as he could be without crowding her. Once more, he rocked her shoulder, and this time it was enough. Her eyes snapped open and she sat up abruptly, freeing her arm from the blankets to snap it tight over Spike's, imprisoning him more than he had her. _Hers_ wasn't a grip that he could easily free himself from.

"Just me," He said, probably a bit too hurriedly—not that he was afraid or anything. Strong bloody man he was, wouldn't tremble at a woman's hand, even if it was Jade's. Her grip was so tight it hurt, but she blinked to free the sleep from her eyes. It hadn't been a rejuvenating kip, that was for sure, and he felt a bit bad for waking her from it, but it hadn't been helping her. She gazed at him, still seeming a bit disoriented. She looked down at herself then, noting as he had that she was in nothing but her skivvies, her white skin almost luminescent in her black laced bra. And then there was something truly glowing just below her jugular, her Soul. And how bloody relieved he was to see it back where it belonged. "Know where you are?" He asked. It was mite to be a bit confusing for the next while, until she sorted all her memories back good and proper. She had yet to speak, but she nodded her understanding.

"Let me see your hands," he said, as she'd let go of his arm, and she frowned, not aware until he turned up the palm of her hand, seeing blood over the blistered flesh, and four half-moon shapes cut into the flesh from her fingernails. Been as he thought. Been in the throes of bloody nightmare in her sleep. He'd done her a blessing, waking her from that. Bloody doubtful if she'd see it the same way though.

Vampires didn't sweat as much as the average human, but her skin was slick with a shiny sheen, her hair half sticking up when she'd peeled herself from the pillow. He might have teased her about it, but not now. She was still groggy, her eyes having a hard time focusing on his face, but when they did, he saw how her brow furrowed and her teeth clenched.

She pulled her hand back. "It'll heal." He didn't hide his sigh as he pulled back, off the bed and onto his feet. Jade made no move to cover up, her gaze following him like blue fire. "You came back?" It was posed as a question, a mark of surprise in her tone.

He scoffed. "'Course I bloody came back." How long did she expect him to stay away? Her mouth was set in a stern line, but she didn't immediately respond, so he went back to where he'd left the box of blood and picked up the clothes ontop of them and tossed them to her. She made no move to catch them, absentmindedly reaching out and touching the shirt.

"You don't have to." She didn't look at him as she pulled the long shirt over her head. It wasn't exactly a perfect fit, similar to the long sleeved shirt he was wearing, both black. However his was tight to him, and hers hung on her thin frame.

"This again?" He growled. "Going to start with your guilt this early in the bloody—"

"I remember." She stated simply, letting the shirt fall, half-way to her thighs as her head popped back into view again, static making some of her hair stand up.

"Remember?"

"All of it." Jade stepped off the bed and onto her bare feet. She gave him a mirthless smile. "As you said, I didn't have over a hundred years to recount."

It was his turn to feel guilty. He'd been mouthing off, hurt and frustrated that she wasn't letting him help her. He hadn't meant to compare… bloody hell, there was no comparing something like that. No comparing their buckets of blood to see which was deeper. He knew better than to say a bloody idiotic thing like that, but keeping his tongue still was not a skill he'd ever mastered. He cleared his throat. "'M so—"

"Don't you dare." She interrupted. The grogginess of her sleep had passed, as well as the confusion as she had sorted her waking thoughts with her sleeping ones. Now her face was covered by a thin mask, the last of her reserves, her expression drawn and on the verge of breaking, and in her gaze there was an acute mix of anguish and fury and disgust. "Don't you apologize to me. Not after what I did." She shook her head helplessly. Her already mussed hair fell more out of place, falling in front of her red lips and pale skin.

"You can't blame yourself," He insisted in as calm a voice as he could manage.

"Who, then?" She snapped back, irritated.

"I don't bloody know, maybe the bint that took your sodding soul? That might be a good bloody place to start!"

"Oh, so she did it all, did she? I'm completely free of blame. What a relief." Jade's voice sagged with sarcasm, but she didn't allow him to answer. "Stop treating me like I'm the victim here!" It was the same as she had said last night, this frantic need to take all the blame for everything, march herself up to the sodding crucifix. "I'm not the victim. The people I slaughtered—the _children_ , those are the victims here. Not one Slaypire who thought herself— _me_ —mighty. I did that."

"I know." Spike answered. What else he could say. "But luv—"

"No buts. No explanation. I don't want an explanation! I don't want an excuse."

"Then what do you bloody want?"

She swallowed. Had a hard time looking him in the eye, but then she did. "I told you. I want to be alone."

He scoffed. "For the rest of your bloody life? You think that'll help? Well I'm not doing it. Not letting you mope about or waste away 'cause you think you bloody deserve it."

"I _do deserve_ it!" Jade shouted. She moved like a blur, not the fastest she'd ever gone, but still, he could scarcely blink before she was before him now, scarce inches apart. She grabbed his arm before he could stop her, and this time it was his broken wrist that she flicked with her thumb. Not carelessly, but with a calculated amount of force.

"Bloody hell," he ground out. Jade hadn't let go of his arm, although her grip moved further down his forearm, away from his tender wrist. She held him firm, keeping him captive again. Again. The word didn't mean to come to him, but it did. Like how she had pinned him to the ground, and he hadn't been able to move or help or do a bloody thing but wait at her mercy. And this was reminiscent of that time, and he knew it was purposeful.

"I did these." She swung out slower, with the arm that had the burnt hole in it, and flicked at his chest with a finger. He winced as she struck tender flesh, the ribs that had yet to mend. She knew where all of his weak spots were, how to make him squirm with pain. Of course she did, since she had done it. And she knew it too. "I hurt you. And I remember. Every second. I was punishing you. I remember."

"Jade…" He said, shaking his head. "I don't care. It doesn't bother me."

"It bothers _me!"_ She yelled again. Her eyes glistened.

"It'll heal!" He insisted.

"So?" Jade snapped, indignant, pained. "That makes it alright? That doesn't make it alright. It doesn't matter how much forgiveness I get. Or don't. I did this to you. I did. I'm supposed to watch your back, I'm supposed to help you to the end. And _I_ know what I feel for you, but when it was her…when it was me." She corrected herself, closing her eyes and opening them back again. "It was so twisted. I obsessed over you." She pulled his arm and brought him closer to her, so close their chests were nearly touching, eyes inches away from each other. And she looked up at him like she wasn't shorter at all. He couldn't do anything, captivated and caught by her magnetic gaze.

"I _obsess_ over you." She corrected herself in present tense. "I don't deserve to call it love. Not after what I did. Not ever."

"You didn't have your bloody soul!" He growled, trying to implore the chit to see some bloody reason. She was so sodding upset, and what, over him? What she'd done? A couple of cuts and bruises and broken bones, hell he'd suffered much worse from Buffy, and that was a Slayer _with_ her soul. He understood how some of the other things that Jade had remembered she'd done would torture her, like the Orphanage, but he didn't have a bloody inkling as to why there was such guilt in her gaze when she looked at him. Like there was a single thing she needed to apologize for—

"I tried to _rape_ you, Spike." She forced out in a broken tone, and it was there that all the pieces fell into place.

He shook his head. "Luv, no—"

"No. That's what you said to me." The tears should have fallen, so abundant were they in their quantity, but she had yet to blink, so they just shimmered there, like pearls, caught up in her dark eyelashes, waiting for release. "You said no. And I kept forcing."

"Jade—"

She pushed him, hard, and it was so unexpected and so rough that he fell back, sprawled onto the floor. Bloody familiar, and there was Jade, following him. Straddling him, her legs on each side of his hips, recreating the scene from before. Her pale, bare legs contrasted against the dark of the room, the black of his clothes. She was light, and she must have kept most of her weight on her knees, because she didn't press her center into him like she had before. She was touching him, but only barely. At some point the tears had reached their breaking point and fell, small rivulets that ran down the curve of her marble cheeks, and she spoke to him in between sobs. "I forced you down. You tried to stop me." She took his good hand, and her touch was so different now, so very gentle as she took his hand and directed it against her stomach, her cold touch lighter than a feather as her fingers overlapped his own. "And I pushed your hand away." Her fingers curled tighter around his hand, pulling it off her again. She looked at their entwined fingers as if she couldn't believe her eyes. "And then I…" She directed her other hand towards his belt, and he could see how badly her fingers were shaking. She couldn't touch him with that hand, stopped her fingers with inches to spare. Couldn't bear to recreate it, not completely.

"And you told me don't," She sobbed. "And I didn't listen. I thought it'd help me get rid of _you_ in my head, in everywhere. The whole time, all I could think of was you… and I wanted it to stop. If you wouldn't give yourself to me, I'd just take…"

He couldn't remember to speak. He was as captive in this memory as she was, except he couldn't recall any of the words he'd said.

The hand that she wouldn't let touch his belt now drifted upwards towards his face instead. He could see the drawn look on her face, the pain as she moved her wounded shoulder, but the grip on his fingers had tightened more, and she didn't seem to even be aware that she could release his hand, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping her from lifting up into the sky and floating away. "I hit your arm," her fingers drifted to his upper bicep, fingers trailing there softly, because she knew if she squeezed it'd aggravate the aches. "And then your head against the rubble." Those fingers reached towards his cheek bone, and he laid there waiting but the touch never came. "I found the stake in your hand and I broke your wrist. The same snap as breaking a candy cane." She looked at where his arm was resting.

"And then you held my arm down. To distract me. And I hit you. Hard. Bounced your head off the edges again. Could smell the blood. If Lyth hadn't put the soul back on me, I would've—" Her voice caught, a shaky edge. "I would have…" She brought her feather-light touch to his face now, caressing the curve of his cheek. She leaned towards him then, her hair falling past from where she'd tried to tuck it behind her ears, framing her face in dark as her skin glowed a pale white. She leaned down, and he couldn't help but shift himself up, his shoulders pushed upwards even as his lower half was trapped, pinioned beneath her. Then her fingers travelled to his chest, over his heart. She tapped it. "I was thinking that once I killed whoever was attacking me, I'd kill you too. Except I'd rape you first. Because I just had to have you and once I did you wouldn't be in my head anymore." Her tone which had gone progressively quieter and quieter now turned hard and cold, her sobs momentarily halting so that her speech was clear and uninterrupted as she trapped him the same way she had before.

And then she was gone. Like a blur, a breath of air, the weight from him was lifted, and he could move again. He scrambled up onto his feet while she was already standing halfway across the room. His throat felt dry, blocked, and he whet his lips to speak. "Jade—"

"You know, my memory's not that good. Never was. Memorization in school was a nightmare. I'm not the kind of person who can recall a moment with perfect lucidity, and being a vampire hasn't helped my memory at all. I get more perceptions, but that doesn't mean I retain things better. Even now, most of the events of those last three days are fading. Only the most poignant moments stand out. Y-you know, I don't remember what he looked like. The first boy I killed. I don't remember the color of his eyes or his hair or how tall he was or if he had freckles, or what he was wearing. It didn't matter. All I remember are the cries he made as they dwindled out, and how he tasted. So. Delicious." Her chest rose and fell as if she were taking a shaky breath.

"And I remember killing Rachel. _Rachel_. After rescuing her from that magical cult, _I'm_ the one who kills her? What was the point of it all? Everything good I ever did or ever could do if I undo it in three days? Build up a tab I can't repay. And you know what else I remember? Everything about you. All my thoughts. I went to sleep at night covered in a duster that looked like yours. It helped convince me that I was going to find you. And then when I did. I try to… to. And I can remember every. Second. Of. It. The way you felt, the way you looked, what you said. How much I wanted you. I remember it so clear. What does that say about me? That that's what I remember the most? I knew you would never want me so I decided to just take it instead. From you. From someone I'm supposed to… how much I care about you, and I…" She shook her head, no longer able to hold his gaze. "I am a disgusting monster. I didn't do those things because I had to, but because I wanted to. And I can't look at you without seeing what I did."

"It wasn't bloody rape," Spike finally forced out. He'd done his best to be patient, let her say what she had to, but she'd stopped, and he had to let her know how ludicrous it was. He hadn't been bloody near-raped, not at all. Least it'd never occurred to him, not while she'd been on him. He'd been thinking of how she'd feel about the whole thing, not him. He wasn't the victim here. She was no bloody thing to be loathed, and she had to know that he would have been willing.

"So you wanted me to have sex with you then? In the broken basement of that building? To fuck you into submission, until you were bloody and broken, because that's what I wanted." Her voice was rough, and she cringed at her own language, closing her eyes briefly.

He hesitated. He wanted that, some of it. Wanted her body for a while now, though it hadn't been right, not while he was still with Buffy. He wouldn't have done that, couldn't have. She didn't know that, of course. And bloody hell, he didn't think it was the time to tell her. But it hadn't been _her_ that was revolting to him, and she used her and soulless her as if they were one person but there were oceans of difference. Her on him and Nyx on him were two entirely different experiences.

And he had to be honest 'bout that because she'd see through him in an instant. Always bloody did.

"Not—" He wasn't quite sure how he was going to finish that sentence. Not her, or not like that, or could he bloody admit how he felt about her without making it worse. Shouldn't. If she just realised that he wanted her, that it hadn't been one-sided or forced at _all_. Telling her was one thing, making her hear it and understand it was another sodding matter entirely.

And she didn't let him finish. "You said no. And I wouldn't listen. I tried to force you… and compromise you. And I beat you when you resisted me. And if I hadn't been interrupted, I would have done it. Imagined doing it. And I saw you in pain, and I just hoped it'd make you… make it easier for you to obey."

"You make it sound like you're a sodding villain, but you're not. It was nothing, luv, it was a bit of… close contact, is all." Bloody hell, he'd never thought he'd shy away, use euphemisms instead, but Jade was sensitive, and damn easily embarrassed. "Bloody hell, it wasn't—"

"If the roles were changed. And you'd been the one without a soul, and I'd been the one on the floor, trapped. And you were doing to me what I'd been doing to you, what would you call that?" Jade demanded, her gaze that of steel.

And all he could think of was Buffy's body beneath his on the bathroom, tiled floor. Tears in her eyes as she beat against his chest, and all he'd wanted was to be loved, thought that was the only way he could make her see. Realisation hit him like a heavy brick. And he knew she could see it then, the understanding dawn in his expression. Yeah, he bloody understood the reference. If he'd done that to Jade, too… the guilt he still felt over what he'd nearly done to Buffy hadn't dissipated. He'd hoped it would, when he'd gotten his soul, but it had just made it worse. It nearly destroyed him, the combined weight of all his deeds. But that near-rape of Buffy had been one of the worst.

He understood then, how she felt, even if she shouldn't. It wasn't the same. Buffy hadn't wanted a thing to do with him, but Spike… hell, he didn't have that same kind of pride. He didn't feel demoralized or exploited. He just felt pity. Pity for how tortured she was, and anger at himself for not being able to fix it.

And relief when she leaned forward to him again and said, "Leave. Just leave, please."

This was it. His chance to tell her that she had it all wrong. Thought she'd taken advantage of him? Though that he could never bare to touch her and didn't want her? She was so, so far off, and that was part of the guilt she'd wrapped around herself, sodding tendrils that wouldn't release their hold. She thought he didn't love her back. He _did_ , and he could tell her now, set it right. Put her worries at ease.

But he wasn't the soulless vampire he'd once been, thinking that telling someone he loved them would make it all better. Hell, he'd damn well learned that there was a wrong and right time to say it. Learned it, not without stumbling a hell of a lot first. And he couldn't make the same mistake he made with Buffy, couldn't see that look of disgust and revolting on her face when—but it wasn't even that. Wasn't selfish this time. He wasn't worried about rejection, because hell, he'd had his share. He'd borne it before and would do so again, no matter how much it bloody hurt. He'd do it for Jade 'cause she was _worth it_ , even if the heartbroken chit couldn't see it herself.

And that's why he couldn't tell her. Not now. He bloody wished it was that simple, but he knew Jade. Knew all the way through that bleeding heart of hers, knew her pain. Knew a thing about self-deprecation, hell, he was the sodding king in that regard. And he knew how she was feeling. If he told her that he loved her, right now, hoping that it would fix all her little cracks, it wouldn't. She'd think… she'd think it was from pity. That he was just trying to make her feel better, make her feel less guilty. She _wouldn't believe it_ , and he'd gone through that too many times, trying to prove his love, and it wouldn't work like this. She had to know, somewhere in that anguished mind of hers. And he had to let her remember it of her own accord, as much as it bloody stung him.

He'd thought it had shown courage, admitting it to Buffy. That it was the next step. Yeah, I hate this love, but 'ere it is, don't throw it in my face. But it had been. Loads of times. It wasn't the time. He was a right ponce, he knew that. But it wasn't pity, what he felt for her, not one bloody bit, and he couldn't bear her thinking that's what it was.

So he'd be a bastard for staying, trying to tell her what she didn't want to hear, or he'd be the bastard that abandoned her. Bloody hell, it wasn't a sodding choice. But it was what she needed most at the time. Not him. He'd make that sacrifice. She'd sure as hell do the same for him. Maybe not now, but she would. If it was ever needed.

So he did what was hardest. What she wanted.

He left.


	18. Chapter 18

**18**

It was days. She thought she'd be bored to tears, and she was, until with the deposits of blood came a book of blank parchment paper and a pencil to draw with.

Spike hadn't come back, not since she'd told him to go. She wouldn't dare let herself regret that decision. She didn't deserve to see him again, let alone have him in the same room taking care of her. She took care of herself. Watched blood pour down the drain when she washed herself, knowing that barely any of it was hers. She'd taken a few cuts and lacerations, but the brunt of her wounds had been seared by holy water. No, far too much of the blood she'd found on herself hadn't been hers. And she could tell, by the smell.

She'd been in a hurry to wash it off. One inhale of the human blood that had lingered on her, well, that'd be something her demon wouldn't be able to resist and the last thing she wanted was to bite or slaver on the afflicted skin just for a taste. No. She'd scrubbed her skin so hard it'd been red, and doused herself with the shampoo and lotions she'd been allowed, until she smelled like fruit, and not blood or death.

And she'd drunk the monkey blood they'd given her, marmoset and chimps, and it'd helped to ease her hunger, but not her desire. It tasted like watered down swill after being treated to the most savory of dishes.

Slayer Blood. Burning vitality, tasted like sunshine and power. The pith of a Slayer, and she'd tasted it. She wished she could say that she never wanted to taste it again.

It would be a lie. There was little else to do in the loneliness of her room but think. She ran her memories over and over and over again, unable to help herself, and perhaps just a bit encouraging it. Hoping it would help them lose their poignancy. That eventually she'd stop being able to shudder and wince and cry when she thought of what she'd done.

And she spent too much time, far, far too much time reliving the memory with Spike. How his body felt beneath hers. How his hand had said no while his body had molded to hers. How he'd rejected her with his voice but his eyes had gazed at her, vehement and wanting. And she knew she'd remembered it wrong, that she'd made up the desire in Spike's eyes to make herself feel better.

And she hated herself for it. Hated the fragments in her head that stirred when she tried to sleep, reminding her of her crimes again and again, so even when her waking mind couldn't produce the whole recollection, her dreams would fill it in with darker and bloodier links. The world was burning, or falling into shadow, and even the demons she'd killed had become helpless children.

At least she was done. She'd been mostly sure the last time Spike had visited, and there'd been no new fragments resurfacing since then. Nothing else to remember, she had it all. And it was enough on its own.

Far too much.

Faith had come to see her, two days before. Voices heard through the door before Faith had appeared had informed Jade that Angel had been there as well, but he had stayed out in the hall, the comments between he and Faith making it sound like he had been warned to stay back. So Faith had come in with the blood this time, not even acting that disturbed when she'd placed it down and Jade had taken a jar immediately.

She couldn't help herself. It was hard enough keeping her demon face at bay when Faith was there, her Slayer blood so close, so warm. Warmer than the jars Jade had to drink from, with blood that wasn't old, but wasn't as fresh as it would be from the vein either. Would never be that fresh ever again.

Of course, Faith must have been used to Angel's drinking habits by now. She wasn't sure if Faith and Angel were in anyway intimate—not that they could really be, but she knew Spike seemed to think something was between them. And of course, his face popped into her head, the lackadaisical manner in which he'd mentioned it, but this had been ages ago now. And Jade supposed it didn't really matter, except for how far Faith and Angel might go. Losing a soul. Turning into Angelus. A feared, sadistic, brutal vampire.

She wondered who the Slayers feared more. Soulless her or soulless Angelus.

And she thought of it often, enough to be disappointed that Angel didn't come into the room. She knew he understood her the most, because unlike Spike, Angel and her could still lose their soul again. It wasn't for keeps. And that terrified her. Except terrify didn't seem strong enough of a word. She didn't know how to describe it. The shifting scale she was on, the illusion of choice. If she could ever repay the lives she'd taken, or ruined. If it'd ever be even, if there was even a point if one day she could lose her soul again and all her good would be for nothing.

And that would be one of the things she would have asked Angel, but instead there was Faith.

"Checking to make sure you were five by five. Not even a TV, huh?" Faith said casually when she sauntered in, though she'd seen the room the first time, it still wasn't very brightly lit. To Jade's eyes, it didn't matter, but Faith's large eyes weren't so good in the dark, so Jade lit a few candles for the Slayer's benefit.

"I at least got a TV while I was in jail. Well, it was in the rec room. Had to share it. Not very good at sharing, though. Once I got that remote, no-one was taking it from me." Faith bypassed Jade's chair and sat directly on her bed instead. "Man, poofy. Much better than my cell cot."

"How long were you in jail?" Jade asked, curious. She hadn't really had a heart-to-heart with Faith, and there were parts of her history that Jade was missing, and Spike hadn't really found much need to talk about Faith, so he hadn't. Most of what Jade knew was from her own experience and bits and pieces from Anya, Tara and Joyce, what'd they left in her as spirits.

Faith shrugged. Her arm was looking better, no longer in a sling, although there was a bruise and a cut on her chin that Jade didn't remember giving her. Faith wore a revealing, low cut tank top that Jade wouldn't wear, let alone pull off. She was much too slim for that, and not nearly shapely enough. But Faith looked at ease as she ever was. "Not for the full twenty five years of my sentence, I can tell you that now. Although it'd probably be a bit longer now. I could stay there until I'm old and grey. Three squares ain't something to turn down lightly."

"Did it help?" Jade asked. Faith had come to _her_ , after all, and Jade found the Slayer was one of the ones she could stand to see, that she didn't feel guilty over, even if she had broken Faith's arm and killed her friend, she didn't feel like a monster. An equal, somehow.

Faith skewed up her full lips. "With the guilt?" Her expression was casual, unbothered, then she frowned. "Nah. Not really. Doesn't go away, you know? And thing about prison. Quiet nights and lonely beds, there's a lotta time for reflection. But I'm more for action, you know? How much is thinking about it going to do, right?"

"Would you ever go back?"

Faith picked at her jeans, then shook her head. "Not saying it wasn't good for me. I probably deserve it. But, I kinda belong out here. Doing good. Sitting there, rotting. It's a waste. And boring. I actually feel like I'm doing something out here. And I am. Sitting on my hands just so someone else can say I've mended my ways? Nah. This is redemption for me, babe. Not like, praying to a God who doesn't care."

"What if you… slip again? With no one to stop you?"

Faith leaned forward now, her hand in her chin. "You know, I get it. Anyone else asking me questions like this, I'd tell them where to stuff it. But you and me. We get it. Don't have the gold star never-killed-a-human-award like Buffy has. And as for if I slip?" Her eyes released Jade's and travelled upwards, into the ceiling and she shrugged again. "Well I won't. I gotta good thing going. Might not have spent all twenty five frigging years in that cell, but I learned my lesson. Won't throw that away again."

Jade nodded. "They're lucky to have you. The… Slayers, whatever, Angel, the world. You do good here, more than you would in a cell."

Faith laughed. "Damn right they're lucky to have me. I'm the bomb, princess. Saving their lives day in and out. Like I'm supposed to. Slayer and all that." She tossed her hair over her chin, looking at Jade more seriously. "Don't worry. You'll get your white hat back too, and they'll send you out to march. Not one for waste. Not one for trusting either, but you're a bit nicer than I am." She smirked. "That'll speed it up."

Then Faith was back on her feet. "This was just a headsup. Angel, Gwen, Illyria and I, well we're heading out. On the hunt for some magical help, now that Willow's still out."

"She hasn't come back yet?" Jade asked, concerned for the red-headed Witch. It'd been a while longer, and while Jade was secretly glad that Willow wasn't there to see Jade run soulless, she liked Willow. Missed having a near-friend. And she found she was disappointed to hear Angel and Faith were leaving as well.

"No." Faith shrugged, obviously indifferent about the matter. "Sorry to leave you at B's mercy and all, but we can't stick around longer and Angel's not allowed to rescue you."

Jade frowned. "Not allowed—"

Faith reached the door. "Oh, and your vampire is wandering the halls like a hurt puppy. Got himself into a fight with the Slayers yesterday. Bored, I guess. I jumped in, helped him out." She thumbed the scratch on her face that Jade had noticed from earlier, grinning. "It was fun, actually. Called it training or whatever, but it's nice to kick their ass from time to time, remind them who the scary ones are." Her eyebrows shot up and down in conjunction with her smile, then her expression settled down again. "But it's obvious that he wants to be here, and he can't, so he's just moping. And one brooding vampire is more than enough, okay?"

"Thought he'd just be hanging around with Buffy," Jade commented, sounding more bitter than she wanted to. But she meant it. She might be lonely in here, but there were at least people who wanted to be around him, ones that he hadn't tried to kill or maim. She didn't exile him, she exiled herself.

Faith scoffed. "As if Buffy wants Spike anywhere near her after..." She cut herself off when she saw how Jade stared at her, and she grinned wickedly. "Anyway, not my place to say, or whatever."

"Wait, what'd you mean?" Jade asked as Faith's hand closed around the doorknob and pulled. "Unless it's some sex thing," Jade added as an afterthought. Faith was a bit more crude and blunt than Jade was, not at all as tactful.

Faith laughed. "Definitely not a sex thing," she reassured the Slaypire. "Well. Enjoy your cell. Hope it does you more good than it did me."

"Good luck," Jade said as the door closed, realising then she wasn't quite sure what she was wishing Faith good luck for. The Slayer had said a lot without saying much at all, and she'd kept just as much hidden. Some sort of mission that she was traipsing off on.

And part of Jade wished she could have gone with her.

Instead, she'd sat back down at her table and sketched. Faith's large doe-like eyes were recent enough for Jade to sketch them down, and so she did, until two dark orbs stared back at her. At least it was a change from her last drawings. She thumbed the pages. Nothing there but darkness and blood. And lots of Spike. The curve of his cheekbones, the intensity of his eyes. His lips. She couldn't help but draw him, although not nearly as well as if he'd been there for her to observe. Still. Her artistry required a muse, and soul or no soul, she couldn't deny that it was Spike.

She supposed it was a bit ironic that she'd asked him to go because she couldn't look at him without feeling guilty, and then she'd drawn him many times. Never as good as the real thing.

But she'd never have that anyway. Even if she had deserved him, somehow.

And he hadn't come back yet. Maybe it was for the best. She hadn't been kind to him. She blushed—or she would have, if it were still possible—at the memory, how she had pinned him to the floor and he'd allowed it, just staring up at her with eyes that were far too trusting, still as a statue. And she tried to banish those memories, how he'd looked, staring up at her, but it wasn't working. Nothing was pushing these thoughts away.

Not until the door opened again, two days after Faith had left, and no-one but nameless Slayers delivering her blood until in came Buffy, Kennedy and Spike.

She hadn't been sleeping. Most of her time was spent awake until finally the exhaustion would bear her down for a few hours. But their footsteps were enough to rouse her from her quiet contemplation, wordless arguing between Spike and Buffy that she probably could have listened to if she'd wanted, but the truth was, she couldn't be bothered. She checked to make sure she was clothed at least, not the clothes that Spike had brought her a couple days ago, a cleaner pair that didn't look any different. She supposed she could have cared more, held more curiousity and maybe fear when the three of them piled into her room, but she just felt tired.

She wanted to look at Spike, nearly broke down and allowed herself one look, but held firm, only barely. Somehow, it was easier to look at the Slayers she'd tried to kill rather than the man she'd tried to rape.

Made sense though. She didn't care about the women like she did about Spike. That was just fact she couldn't ignore.

She didn't have anything comical or laid-back to say, some witty barb like Spike would, instead she just watched the three of them enter her room and noticed how they left the door ajar behind them.

"You're going on a trip." Kennedy said, and something seemed to have distressed and angered her, her face a mask of stone, eyes even darker than normal. Jade wasn't sure if it had something to do with her or something else, but she didn't think Kennedy would respond well to her asking. "Getting a little break from your room."

"Oh?" Jade asked. Buffy was still shooting a glare at Spike, and she could tell from her peripherals, without focusing on the white-haired vampire, that the look he shot back at Buffy was equally displeased. Jade realised then that there was an odd black bar like rod on Kennedy's belt, hanging off it like she was a police officer. It took Jade another moment to realise that the rod was a cattle prod, or some sort of electric shocking thing, and she swallowed, doing her best to look complacent and not defiant.

"Yeah. I'll need to put these on you." Kennedy continued in the same flat, matter-of-fact voice, displaying large metal shackles meant for tinier wrists. She knew whose.

"Bloody excessive!" Spike swore, and this time, she couldn't keep her eyes from glancing to him. Habit. He looked cleaner, pale as ever, but there were no dark circles around his eyes, and only the trace of a bruise, she knew not from her, but likely from the fight that Faith had mentioned. For a second, she was jealous. _Should have been me, having his back_. She missed a good fight. The three days she'd been… that didn't count. Not for a fight, at least. Still. If she'd hit one of the Slayers too hard, drew blood… she didn't have the same restraint she had before. Not with this hunger that never left her, this blood lust.

She eyed the manacles. They were probably for good reason, although she still didn't know where she was going or why.

Buffy scowled viciously at the bleach blonde vampire. "I thought we agreed you were going to be quiet if you wanted to tag along, Spike."

His black brow lowered, closer to his sky blue eyes that were mere gray in the confines of her badly lit room. "Like you could stop me," He muttered, but it was so quiet that only Jade's vampire hearing could pick it up, and she didn't reveal his faux deference.

"What's going on?" Jade asked at the same time she bared her slim wrists to Kennedy, only to have the Slayer turn her around so her arms could be behind her back instead, the clunk of steel ringing in her ears as the metal wrapped around her. And it was cold, even to her, but not uncomfortable, just a difference in weight. Her burns had been healing, albeit slower than the rest of her wounds. And her battered arms were almost fully recuperated, Elijah's legacy almost a thing of the past. The time alone in her room had been good for recuperation at least. Of the body, anyway. Drinking blood and doing nothing but trying to sleep and drawing, well, it wasn't strenuous.

"You're needed." Kennedy said, her breath almost on Jade's cheek as the Slayer finished with her tinkering, letting Jade's wrists rest somewhat, and letting her face Buffy and Spike. Spike didn't look worried, at least, more irritated, so she could hope that this wasn't for some sort of trial.

"Just bloody tell her, you obscure sods," Spike complained, shooting an answering glower back at Buffy.

Buffy tore her emerald eyes away from Spike and settled them on Jade. "We haven't been able to bring Willow back. Billy, the warlock, he's skilled in Astral-projecty stuff. He's tried some things, but it hasn't worked." Buffy's eyes darted over to Kennedy then, who looked back at Jade stoically, not seeing the blonde's askance look. That was probably why Kennedy was so disquieted. Her lover was still off, and nothing had been successful yet.

"But we're trying something else. Billy's been using a loved one of Willow to try to communicate her back." Buffy's lips thinned and she glanced to Kennedy again, and Jade could glimpse that they'd likely tried with Kennedy, and it hadn't worked. More reason for her to be upset.

"Sophie's here now, the coven brought her, so we're going to try again. But she wants you with her. The person doing the astral whatevering needs an anchor, and she wanted you." The anger in Kennedy's eyes wasn't missed as Buffy continued to explain, but Jade could feel a panic well up in her chest and she took a step back, shaking her head.

"I can't."

Children, blood. Eyes open. Staring at nothing. Screams, begs. Laughing at them all.

If she still breathed, she'd be hyperventilating. She couldn't see Sophie _not after what Jade had done,_ "I can't." Maybe Sophie didn't know. It was a selfish thought, and the only one that was any hope to her. Maybe she didn't know, and wouldn't look at Jade like she was some kind of… monster. But of course Sophie knew. Kennedy would have told her in a heartbeat. "Have Kennedy do it. I can't." She didn't have anything else any more eloquent to say, nothing to explain it. Not another harmless child anywhere near her, and magic, no, she couldn't.

Kennedy gritted her teeth, eyes like twin black holes. "She asked for you."

"Super girl," Spike's words were in her ear, he'd pushed past Kennedy and reached Jade, his arm reaching out for her straightened elbow. _He_ could touch her. She couldn't touch him. Not after… And she shouldn't be taking comfort in it, but she did, the gentleness of his touch, the softness of his words. Buffy looking back at the two of them, her eyes narrowed slits. "She needs you. Needs your help."

"I can't," Her voice dropped to the same low whisper. Begging him, like he could fix it all.

"You won't hurt her." He promised her, his eyes burning with sincerity. Spoken so vehemently, so that she might believe it like he did. "They need 'elp. And you help, remember? You've got to." He didn't say the words, 'it's a start', but they were implied. And damn it, he was so comforting, so reassuring, and she couldn't even remember to be reserved towards him. Couldn't tell him to go away again, because the truth was that if she was going to do this, she needed him with her. And with that single thought, she knew she'd decided.

Right thing here, she reminded herself. Amends weren't possible. But she had to start somewhere. And no, she couldn't leave Sophie without her adoptive mother because she was afraid. Wouldn't be a _coward_. She couldn't let anything happen to Sophie, and she wouldn't.

Kennedy was still glaring at her, waiting impatiently. Absentmindedly, she felt Spike tuck her hair behind her ears. He'd seen the changes in her stature that the others hadn't, how her shoulders had lowered and she'd released a breath she hadn't needed.

"Okay." She nodded. "You're right. I'll do it."

They didn't lead her by the handcuffs, just expected her to walk in line. And Spike was there, at her side. So damn encouraging and reassuring it made her want to cry. She'd been terrible to him, but she didn't know how to help it. Didn't know how to fix the rift she'd made, or know if it was even right to do so. She didn't deserve his friendship, his nearness, and his smiles, even though she craved them.

They stepped into a chamber, one that was excessively bright it seemed, compared to the dimness in her room, so she winced, taking a moment to adjust when she heard a gentle, shrill tone.

"Jade." And of course it would be Sophie, her blonde hair nearly white in the light, large eyes as blue as the sky. The child of four—or was she five now? Jade didn't remember her birthday, and for some reason, that lack of knowledge made her guilty, like she should know it. But Sophie wasn't her cousin, or her adopted daughter or even her Goddaughter. She had just been one of the kids at the Orphanage who'd always smiled at her, one of the ones she'd rescued.

And now the only one she hadn't tried to kill of that lot.

"Hello, Soph," Jade said in an even a tone as she could manage. She was still half-afraid that Sophie would hurl insults and accusations at her for killing her friends. But maybe Kennedy hadn't told her all the details. That was likely. The Slayer didn't seem as nearly as comfortable with Sophie as Willow did. She probably didn't know how to deal with the girl while her lover was indisposed.

Sophie took a few more steps towards Jade before Kennedy intervened, intercepting Sophie by stepping in front of her. Jade saw Kennedy's hand twitch, as if she was debating reaching out and giving Sophie a comforting pat, some touch of some kind, but the Slayer didn't reach out further, just made herself into a wall.

"Don't get too close yet, not before the ceremony." Kennedy asserted.

Sophie's large eyes bobbed, but didn't tear, an upset expression on her face. "But—" She pointed to how Jade's arms were tucked behind her back, inaccessible.

"No. Remember what I told you?" Kennedy glanced back over her shoulder to look at Jade, her eyes dark, but also a little nonplussed. The Slayer was relentless and fearless in battle, but she was lost in the dealings of a child. "She's not good when people are close right now. So no hugs like last time."

Sophie nodded slowly, admonished, peeking over at Jade past Kennedy's hip. Her soft lips were pressed into a little open 'o' shape, and her eyes were still wide, and Jade wasn't sure exactly what she was thinking, but it seemed like Sophie didn't know either. Didn't know whether to be afraid or sad or just miss her, so she wanted to be closer.

"Come on," Spike's voice in her ear again, as he shifted her to the side of the large circular room. His shoulder was close enough to her that she could rest her head on it, and wanted to, wanted that bit of comfort as Sophie's large eyes followed her around the room. Buffy had moved to the middle, where the warlock—Billy—was standing, fixing some herbs and small bones around in a circle. Willow was there too, on a thin bed on the floor. She didn't just look like she was sleeping, she looked like she was in a coma. Her chest rose and fell with sleep, but her eyes were tightly closed, and she didn't jerk or move. Her red hair looked like fire in the light, spread out under her, but her skin looked all the more paler, though not quite as much as a vampire's.

"They'll pull you in when they need you." Spike continued to inform her. His eyes were carefully devoid of emotion when she looked at him, an impressive feat for him. One thing he'd never really mastered was keeping his emotions in check. He didn't hide.

"Did you watch the last times they tried?" Jade asked.

Spike shrugged. "Once, with Kennedy in the circle, not the lit'l one. Mighty boring. Nothing good came out of it either, and then she stomped away like a ticked off elephant."

"What do I have to do?"

Spike scratched his chin. "Don't rightly know. Magic isn't my forte, and I didn't really ask."

"Been getting into fights instead?"

He arched his scarred brow, then tilted his lip into a smirk. "Yeah. Needed a bit 'f fun to tide me over."

"You don't have to stay, you know. It's not fair that—"

He stopped her by wrapping his fingers around her arm. "'M not leavin' you alone here. Even if you think you want me to. You're a big fan o' the role reversal. You'd leave me like this?"

She glanced away. Kennedy was bringing Sophie into the circle, where Billy was giving the girl an encouraging smile, even managing to pull a quiet giggle from the child.

"No," Jade answered honestly, feeling Spike's eyes still burning into her even without looking at him. If the same thing had happened to Spike, no, she wouldn't, although she doubted he'd be acting the same way as she did.

"Then it's sodding settled," Spike spoke, his language stronger than the weight with which he delivered the sentence. It was more like a sigh of relief that she wasn't fighting him, at least on this. She'd be honest with him, and she hadn't been. But it was the truth that was a killer.

She was surprised when Spike spoke again, exhaling a little sigh when he answered her question with a matter-of-fact-tone.

"You're the anchor. Sophie's going to go to sleep like her mum, and glasses boy is going to connect the two of you, so she can draw on your energy. You're a protector, o' sorts. You'll be connected to her and keep her from drifting off. A protector," Spike repeated. "That's why she wanted you, 'n not Kennedy. She was scared. Wanted her guardian."

"Thought you didn't know much about magic," Jade countered.

"Can't bloody tell you what sort of weed they're putting down there, that's for sure, but I have the gist. The little Glinda wanted you."

"You used to call Tara that," Jade murmured.

"Well, they're related, aren't they? Look kinda similar too. Eyes too big for their head." He said it with affection, and she felt a pang of loss, even though she'd never actually met Tara, but if she was anything like Sophie, Jade was sure that they might have been friends.

"I still don't think…" Jade hesitated, watching Billy get Sophie to lay down on a makeshift bed of sheets, then beckon for Jade to come over. She took one step, and then turned back towards Spike, panic rising in her chest. "I'm no Guardian."

His eyes gazed back at her. Calm, accepting. "To her, you are. Best make it work."

A smile flitted across her lips of their own accord. Not exactly comforting, but demanding. That was easier to bear, from Spike. Expected. She stepped over to the middle of the room, where they waited. Kennedy kept her eyes on her, a warning in those dark orbs. A _if you hurt her_ was apparent, even without words. Jade wondered if Kennedy was more worried about Sophie for her sake or for Willow's. A slayer that Jade didn't know took up the opposite side of her as she kneeled in front of Sophie.

The man, Billy, gave her an encouraging, although not entirely fearless smile. She'd tried to kill him, she remembered that. And from his light cringe, she was sure he remembered too.

"Kneel there, that's good. Sophie, how are you doing?" The man turned his attention to the small girl, who was exceptionally calm for someone so young, part of her quiet demeanor, but Jade could see how she trembled.

"Good," Sophie answered back in a tinny tone. Her eyes found Jade, apprehension in them, although Jade didn't think it was all to do with her. She was worried for Willow too.

"This'll work," Jade promised. Promises were a bad idea, especially to children, but she couldn't help herself. She wanted to alleviate the fear in Sophie's eyes, and she was rewarded with a smile, even if it was small.

"I'll be connecting you to the astral realm, Sophie. You hold Willow's hand, that's right, perfect, and you'll be in a sort of sleep, but you'll be able to move around."

"And I won't be alone?" Sophie asked, frightened still.

"No. Jade'll be with you. Like a presence. She won't be talking, but she'll be with you. You'll be safe—not, not that it's dangerous." Billy amended hastily, adding a muttered, "Hopefully," under his breath. He noted Jade's significant look and paled somewhat. "We don't know exactly where Willow went to. But it likely shouldn't be that precarious."

Jade nodded reluctantly. She didn't like the idea of someone as young as Sophie doing this basically by herself. With just Jade to help her, and what could she do? "How will we find Willow?"

"It's uh, my hope that she'll sense Sophie's presence. And come to her." Billy fixed his askew glasses.

"Will I be in the astral realm too?" Jade asked, still confused about the whole thing. Billy tilted his head side to side.

"Yes, and no. You'll be aware of the 'real world', which is why there's to be absolute silence," Billy cleared his throat and looked pointedly at the observers in the room, one last reminder. "So if anything happens, you'll be jarred somewhat, but if you stay focused, you should be able to see what Sophie sees. You're the anchor. You connect her between the astral world and the real one."

"I thought that was your job," Jade said with as much humour as she could muster, and at least Billy gave her a tight smile for her troubles.

"I'm the magic. I'm the one who's making it so Sophie can Astral project. She's doing that through me, but she needs a bridge still. Make sense yet?"

Jade let out a shaky laugh. "Not a bit."

"It'll be okay," Sophie said then, and she'd been so quiet, Jade had nearly thought she was asleep already. "We'll be together."

"Yeah," Jade said, looking down at the small girl. For Sophie's sake, she couldn't afford to show doubts. "You're right. Not a worry."

"Okay. Let's start." Billy lightly bound Willow's and Sophie's hands together, sprinkling a few herbs on their joined hands before letting them lay back down onto the stone floor. Then he wedged himself in between Jade and Sophie, looking a bit nervous at his close proximity to a Slaypire, but he managed a stoic enough expression. Jade closed her eyes as she felt his thumb touch her forehead, warm and pulsing…

Pulsing. Blood. She'd eaten her fill before, but not enough to abate the hunger she felt rising in her, and how easy would it be, manacles or not to just dive for his wrist and take what she wanted.

No, not now, not now. Jade took her own thumb into her fingers and squeezed until she heard the cracks. It was a small pain, but a pain nonetheless, and it helped clear her head.

"Not the thumb." She said hoarsely. "It's loud." She didn't open her eyes, didn't want to see confusion or disgust or fear on Billy's face, then she heard a voice from behind her.

"Just do as she says, mate. Can hear your little heart beating. Like a drum, 've no doubt." Spike, answering from where he stood. She could see him even with her eyes clothed, the way he must be shaking his head and looking at Billy like he was an idiot.

His index finger was applied instead, very, very lightly, and she was grateful she no longer had to feel that tiny little beating that he had probably forgotten of, and she was all too aware. Now she could relax, at least. She opened her eyes a crack to see that Billy's other hand was on Sophie's forehead, putting some sort of oil there, then on her mouth, and then just below the jugular, and then his hand rested back up on Sophie's forehead, and he began to mutter quietly and rapidly.

"The inward eye, the sightless sea, ayala flows through the river in me," Billy chanted, over and over until the words were just one muddle. She felt it then, when his finger left her forehead, but there was still a connection, tangible but not physical, and she could feel the rapid beating of Sophie's heart, felt it calm and her breath grow level, felt her drift away, but still remain tethered, and everything was dark, since their eyes were closed, but with an inhale of a breath that wasn't hers, she opened them, and saw a world of swirling gray.


	19. Chapter 19

**19**

She was solid. And she was short, at least she felt like it, with the sky so wide and open, although there wasn't anything to measure herself with. Her feet landed on something solid, even if the floor looked like clouds, she didn't slip through them. It took Jade a few seconds to realise that once she started moving that it wasn't _her_ moving at all. She could hear her breaths so near to her that she ascertained they were coming from her own mouth. Or, not exactly her own mouth. She was looking up at the world like she was a child because she was one. She was seeing the world as Sophie saw it.

The breaths were coming more rapidly now, matched with the fleet beating of her heart. She was scared, and she was lost.

 _You're alright_ , Jade tried to say, but she didn't have her own mouth. She was like a presence, or a ghost, she had no manifestation of her own.

"Jade?" Sophie's voice came in a tremble, loud among the world that never ended. "Is that you?"

 _It's me_ , Jade answered back, without words, wondering if Sophie could hear her. _I'm with you_. Sophie gulped, still trembling with trepidation, but her breathing eased and her heart didn't beat so fast.

"I don't see Willow." Sophie tried very hard to keep her voice steady, but Jade could see and feel the tears well up in the child's eyes.

 _It's okay. Might not be an immediate thing_. And Jade realised she hadn't asked the right questions, or enough of them, and she was lost. Where exactly were they supposed to go from here? _Try calling her?_

"Willow!" Sophie shouted in immediate obedience. She wrapped her pudgy arms around her. She was wearing a yellow dress that had darker red flowers on it, and her blonde hair was done up in a braid; Jade could feel it draping down one shoulder. "Willow! Mommy!"

Her feet wouldn't stay still, so she walked among the clouds, in this realm of nothing but shades of gray, looking like they were walking through a fog. Sophie's eyes had fallen at her feet for the first couple of steps, terrified she'd slip through the non-solid floor, but they were still upright, so Sophie scanned their surroundings. It seemed at the same time that they could barely see their hands in front of them and also far, far into the abyss and beyond, the sky, like there were no boundaries.

"Mommy!" Sophie called again, and Jade felt sympathy grip her, for the little orphan who'd found a home again. And now that home was missing.

 _It's okay, Soph._ She'd heard Sophie's raggedy breath. Felt it, rather. The beginnings of a sob.

"I don't think she's here. I don' think no-one's here." Sophie brushed her arm past her face to wipe away her tears, sniffling into her arm.

 _We'll keep looking_. And she felt Sophie's answering nod, as the scared little girl did her very best to keep herself together, and kept walking. It might not have been an actual physical manifestation of Sophie, but it felt like it. She was projected as a real, living girl that had a heart beat and breath.

There was a cold chill then, and Jade could swear that the mass of gray around them had somehow gotten darker. Sophie shivered. "I don't know where to go."

It might have been her imagination, but one corner seemed darker than the rest. It seemed awful, to steer such a young child towards it, but nothing else stuck out at all.

 _See those shadows over there?_

Sophie had started sniffling again, but her keen eyes noticed it quickly enough. She dipped her head. "Yeah."

 _Head towards that_. And Sophie did, carrying them closer, and it did seem like the shadow grew the nearer they got to it.

Jade had so many questions, so much uncertainty. She doubted that going towards shadows was ever a good thing, or that they were even a realm that could reach Willow. Maybe she wasn't here. Or close, and they were going into danger. Or going into nothingness. She didn't have a damned clue.

 _I hate magic_ , Jade thought irritably.

"I like it," Sophie answered back. "Willow's been teaching me. She sez I'll be good at auras. Like Tara."

Jade didn't have a face with which to smile. Instead, she spoke back to Sophie, this time on purpose. _Yes, you will_. And she'd do it with Willow's help, once they found the red-headed witch.

They'd reached the dark corner. Instead of clouds, the fluffy curves turned to edges, and the more they stared into the darkness, the more they saw it take an image. No longer clouds, it looked like a forest. A forest in the dark.

Sophie's lower lip trembled.

 _We don't have to go in here. It might just be the wrong way_. They'd found something new, but if it frightened Sophie, then it could be damned. They'd find something else.

But Sophie shook her head. "No. It feels right. An' scary. But… I think dis is the way." And if the little girl was determined, Jade wouldn't argue. She was here to help her. Whatever she needed. Jade was a guardian, at least to one little girl, at least in this moment.

And she didn't even have a body. She was just thoughts.

Twigs snapped and crackled under Sophie's feet. Jade realised for the first time that they were bare. This was the image that Sophie had chosen for herself to appear in, after all, which was more suited for frolicking through meadows than creeping through a dark forest.

"Is dis where Willow went?" Sophie asked, her voice sounding loud in the silence.

 _I have no clue_ , Jade answered honestly. _I'm not really sure where we are, kiddo._ If Sophie hadn't said otherwise, Jade would have doubted that they were anywhere near where Willow lingered.

There was a crack, and it wasn't from Sophie's feet stepping on a twig, from somewhere behind them. Sophie whirled and gasped. "Willow?" She asked, her voice trembling with trepidation. "Mommy, are you there?"

Their answer came in the sounding of a low, feral growl, and a shadow moved.

"What was that?" Sophie asked, her voice barely higher than a squeak.

Jade didn't have an answer for her, but she sure wasn't going to ask Sophie to stand there so she could find out.

 _I don't know. Run!_

With a gasp, Sophie did just that, turning and fleeing as fast as her little legs could carry her. The growl increased in anger, and it followed them, chasing after Sophie. And Sophie, she was trying, the small child that she was, until her foot caught a branch and she fell to the ground, a mess of curls, leaves and tears.

 _Up, up_!Jade tried to urge her, and Sophie tried, but she only had time to scramble to her feet before the shadow fell upon them. It had taken the form of a wolf, though not like any Jade had ever seen. It was black, and its fur jutted out more like spikes, and it was larger with a tail that whipped like a cat's. It was within pouncing distance, but hadn't yet jumped. Eyes glowed like rubies, and its long fangs were slavering with saliva. Looking upon its prey.

And Jade had no body, nothing. Sophie cried out, a desperate scream that pealed through the trees. "WILLOW!" She begged, and Jade half-expected the red-haired witch to come out of the trees in a blaze of glory.

The wolf growled, but Jade could almost swear that the corner of its mouth was tilted up in a malevolent smile. Sophie took a step back, and then another, but the roots of a tree pressed into her calves, and she could go no further. Jade didn't expect the wolf would have let them go even if Sophie had managed to scramble away. It was much, much faster, but its gaze rested on them as if it were toying with them. And it was. With each sob and plead that left Sophie's face, it seemed all the more pleased.

"Willow! Mommy!" Sophie shrieked with as much fervor as she could manage. Still nothing. No gallant rescue, nothing seemed to be in the forest except them and this wolf, not even a bird.

But was it a forest. This was some sort of dream land. It was supposed to be connected to where Willow was, but how did they know? And could they… could they die in here? Could Sophie die in here? Would it damage her… astral self, her real spirit, or would they just wake up and try again?

She'd meant what she said. She hated magic. It was so confusing and obscure. Penelope had first introduced it to her, and taught Jade to really fear magic's potential, but she sure as hell hadn't taught Jade much about countering it, understanding it.

The creature snapped its jaw and tensed its body, and as a predator herself, Jade could sense that it was about to lunge. Sophie realised it too, curling one small hand to her chest. "Help, help," She cried, out to Willow, wherever the hell she was.

"Help, Jade, save me."

She was saying it to Jade, not Willow. Of course. Sophie had fancied Jade some sort of protector, a savior, even if now, Jade couldn't have felt further from the truth. Yeah, a savior who managed to burn down an Orphanage and destroy a Slayer's sanctuary. And that wasn't even mentioning all those she had killed. And that needed to be mentioned. She should never have done this. Sophie saw her as a guardian, but she was wrong. Jade _was_ the shadow that hunted in the dark, she'd been more vicious and more fearsome than the beast before them.

And she still could be. She was an anchor. What did that mean? This was a dreamland, after all. She might not have had her own body, but she was an impression. Thoughts, or something. She was aware of it, which meant she could change something, couldn't she? She was _here_.

Sophie needed protecting, so she would damn well do it.

 _I'm here. You're not alone, Sophie. I'll protect you._

And an answering growl burst, nearly from Sophie's throat, sounding more like a lion than a wolf, and Jade could feel Sophie's features change, her teeth protrude, growing longer and fang like, her forehead stiffening, and suddenly the forest seemed so much brighter than before, so clear, and she roared back at the creature with fury. The beast paused, its ears twitching.

Holy shit, she'd influenced Sophie's dream self, projecting her own vampire qualities onto Sophie. It was seriously messed up that she'd given Sophie the countenance of a vampire, this five year old girl, but it was Jade. It was the protection she could give. This was a dream world, after all, not real life.

The wolf had halted, afraid, as Sophie growled up at it with all the intimidation her little self could muster. Jade was proud, but—

 _Step away from her you bloody git_

 _She has vamp face on, Spike, what do you expect me to do_

 _Get that sodding thing away from her_

 _You have to be quiet, or you'll break the_

Voices were flooding her, like fragments, and whispers, crashing towards her like water on rock. What was happening? She remembered then, that she wasn't in the depths of it like Sophie was, that she was half in the real world and half in the realm, a connecting bridge, but something was happening in the real world, and she was trying to figure it out when a whimper burst from Sophie's throat.

Her teeth had gone back to normal, small and crooked, and the ridges had disappeared. No longer diffident, the wolf began its growling anew, and jumped off of the small incline the roots of the tree had given it, and down onto the leave covered ground with Sophie. Ready to snap.

"Don' leave me, Jade," Sophie begged.

 _I bloody swear, you use that and I'll snap your neck_

 _She could attack Sophie. Kill her_

 _You don't_ know _that_

 _Shut up, both of you. If we sever the connection now, we could lose the girl as well_

"Jade?" Sophie whimpered, and Jade was still trying to hear it, to catch the whispers all around her. But her curiosity was putting Sophie in danger. She tried to remember what Billy had said. She had to concentrate. On Sophie, not on the world. Whatever was happening, she couldn't focus on it right now.

 _I'm here_. Focus. Vampire.

Sophie screamed.

The wolf leapt.

 _Protect you_.

Fangs descending, forehead hardening. Eyes that must have glowed like gold. _You're strong and you're fast. Just like me._ Sophie raised her hands to defend herself, but one long leg of the wolf reached past her stubby arms, striking a shoulder and bearing her to the ground. Sophie screamed, a frantic sound. _STRONG, Sophie. You can fight this_.

Her fingers had wrapped around the wolf, not fur, but an almost metallic coldness instead. It was rough against the palm of her hands, but she gripped as tight as she could. And the wolf, snapping teeth near her, whimpered in surprise pain.

 _Push it off. Fling it. You're strong. So strong, Soph._ Sophie grit her jaw together, and with a grunt, managed to get her legs under the beast, lifting up and kicking with as much might as she could manage. All the might of a vampire. She pushed, and the wolf lifted, thrown backwards into the air.

Sophie sat up. "Oh Goddess," she breathed, no doubt a epithet she'd learned from Willow. The wolf had fallen, badly. It got up then, covering its whimpers with a growl, red eyes gleaming back at Sophie. Sophie's heart beat almost like a hummingbird's, but she raised her fists all the same, a picture of courage.

The creature snarled again, but its fighting spirit was spent. Wary now, and tail down, between its legs and no longer snapping furiously, the wolf took one step, and then another, back, back, back until they couldn't see even its outline.

Sophie sobbed, a mixture of relief and fright. Feeling safer now, Jade let her influence fade, letting the vampire disappear from Sophie, just now a human girl. A very scared, very brave human girl.

 _We're alright now. You did it._

Sophie rubbed at her eyes. She was so young and this had been a great burden on her shoulders. Even if it had been just the simple errand of entering this nether realm so that Willow could find her, too much had been asked of the poor girl already.

 _We should try to wake up_ , Jade said, with the realisation that she didn't really know _how_ exactly to do that, yet another question she should have definitely asked of Billy. _Do you know how?_

But Sophie was nodding. "Yeah." She sniffled and rose to her feet, wiping off the bracken and leaves that had attached themselves to her pretty yellow dress. "But we haven't found mommy yet."

 _Sophie, it's dangerous. I don't think Willow's even here._

Sophie slapped some loose pieces of hair away from her forehead. "She's here. We find her."

 _Then I am with you_ , Jade said, resigned. It was most likely a bad idea to continue, but to put Sophie through all this just to turn around empty handed was a crushing thought. _But I don't know where we should go_.

"She's here." Sophie repeated. "Jus' hafta look." She stepped out of the roots the wolf had trapped her in, feet pressing into the ground. She spun around once, but enough to make Jade dizzy, until she pointed her nose in one direction and nodded. "Dis way."

They seemed to walk for quite a while, and though there wasn't anything that popped out in Jade's eyes, Sophie seemed determined that she could sense Willow. And that might have been true, or it was simply a coincidence when Sophie tripped. Tripped over something hard and metal and made in a forest of nothing, and she looked down to see a trap door, surrounded by roots and layered in leaves.

"Down here," Sophie said, scrambling for the round handle.

 _I was hoping you weren't going to say that_ , Jade admitted. How ominous it looked, a trap door in a dark forest. There was an answering grunt from Sophie as she applied her little strength to it, and it came up easily enough, so that Jade didn't even have to apply her vamp-side, and they were looking down into the foreboding hole.

At least it wasn't an abyss. They could see the floor from where they peered in. Gold reflected up at them.

Jade didn't even get a chance to warn Sophie to be careful, the girl had already climbed over the edge, her arms shaking as she held herself up, letting herself hang there before letting go. There was a smack as she hit the ground, and a breath wheezed out of Sophie, heavy, but the girl didn't seem hurt, just winded, and so she picked herself up off the floor and looked up. The trapdoor was gone, along with any traces of the forest. Instead, they were in some sort of temple, it looked like, with gold plated tiles and torches on the walls. It reminded Jade of some mixture between Aztecs, or something she might find in a Indiana Jones movie. The mist was back, so even though the halls themselves seemed endless, they couldn't see down there very far.

"Willow!" Sophie called out, with increasing excitement and hope. At least she seemed animated by this change, whereas Jade still wasn't convinced they'd been going in the right direction. Or any direction at all. But Sophie moved forward, carried by her own determination, and it wasn't like Jade had any choice but to follow.

It was a maze, and she'd never been very good with mazes; her memory left something to be desired. If they were going in the same direction, she wouldn't know. She was tempted to ask Sophie to mark where they'd gone, but thought against it. What would they use to mark the walls. Blood? If Jade had her own body, that was one thing, but she wouldn't be using Sophie's for that, even if it was a dream world. And besides, since when did magic make sense. They could make the ways, and the corridors could still twist anyway they like. No, she'd just have to trust the little one. If she believed she could sense Willow, then Jade would have to believe it too.

Sophie dragged her fingers along the wall, feeling the bumps and engravings in the gold. Every once in a while, she would call out Willow's name, but most of the time she seemed convinced she was heading in the right direction.

And then the hallway ended, and there was nothing before them but a wall. Jade felt Sophie's eyebrows knot up with confusion, and she took her fingers and touched them to the wall, like she couldn't believe there was no door. Jade heard Sophie's breath go uneven again, the beginnings of another sob.

 _We might have taken a wrong turn_ , Jade tried to tell her, although she'd long been thinking it was hopeless, she wasn't going to tell Sophie that. This might have been a pipe dream, but Sophie hadn't thought so, and who was she to crush the girl's hopes. Still. It was a dead end, but that didn't mean they had to give up. It just meant they had to start all over. _We could go back, try again_.

"No," Sophie whispered. She was tired now, her knees knocking about unsteadily, and she slumped to them, onto the cold metal floor, and perhaps they shouldn't be feeling the cold without a real body, but they did. It was the world they were in, the realm, the plane of existence. It was real. Seemed real. "This is the way."

 _Okay_. Jade said. She'd believed Sophie for this long, it wasn't the time to abandon her. _It's dream, remember? Maybe we can get through._

Sophie nodded rapidly. She reached up, touching the palms of her hand to the gold wall, pushing against the large tiles. "Open," She said, too soft to be thought of as demanding, more like asking a favor from it. "Please?"

Sophie sucked in a breath. She seemed to be trying very hard to concentrate. She closed her eyes and whispered, "Apertus." If Jade had breath, she would have held it herself in anticipation. She knew Sophie had had magical potential in her blood—it had been why she'd been kidnapped with the others at the Orphanage all those months ago, with Rachel, Lisa, Neva and Gunner.

Jade felt a stab of pain. Neva had been the first to die. She'd always had a smile on her face, wide and bright, and her dark eyes had been so friendly and flush with a zeal for life. And Jade hadn't been able to save her. And Rachel. Rachel had been similar to Neva. Despite what she'd been through, it hadn't seemed to traumatize her much at all, at least not in the way that it dampered her brightness and energy. And Rachel was gone now too. Pathetically, Jade couldn't remember if Gunner had been among those that had died—been killed. By her. All she knew was that Lisa had survived, and it had filled her with such anger then, and such sweet relief now. At least one of them had made it. And Sophie, who'd been taken in by Willow out of love for Tara, and it was hard not to love Sophie for who she was. So young, yet already exceptional in her poise and wisdom. And she'd had a knack for the magical arts, and of course Willow had been all too willing to teach her adopted daughter more magics, to share Willow's love of the arcane. Something that Kennedy probably wasn't happy with, but it was more and more obvious that Sophie was Willow's. Kennedy took shared guardianship of the child because she had to, but she wouldn't have on her own.

If something happened to Willow, it was doubtful Kennedy would want the child on her own. But nothing could happen to Willow, she _had_ to be alright, because Sophie had lost enough and been through far too much in such a short lifespan, and she deserved to love and be loved by the caring witch.

So it didn't shock or bother Jade that one so young had started learning magic, she only wished that it would work. A small light, a flash of white swirled around Sophie's fingertips, reaching out to the gold, but once it touched the wall, it dissipated and was gone, and nothing seemed to come of it, even as Sophie stood there waiting as patiently as she could, hoping.

There was nothing. It didn't open.

"Willow." Sophie slapped her open palm against the gold tiles this time. She sounded more like a child then, who nagged constantly for attention, waiting for her mother to turn her sight on her and pay attention to whatever was so important to the child.

But this wasn't a show of narcissism or a wanting to be noticed. This was a little girl trying to find her daughter in a maze of minds and thoughts.

Sophie was beginning to be demoralized again.

 _Try again_. Jade urged her. _Keep speaking to it, maybe_. How ridiculous, encouraging a child to speak to a wall, but Sophie's feet didn't seem to want to carry her away. If they stayed here, then they'd keep trying.

Sophie placed her fingers on the gold wall. "I wanna see my mommy, please." The small wisps of light leaked from her fingers again, seeping into the cracks.

Nothing. Again, which wasn't very—

There was a creak. Then a grinding, a grating of moving slabs, and Sophie, startled, climbed back up onto her feet as the walls swung apart, creating another doorway to step through. And Sophie did, with as much diligence as she had shown to first climb down the trapdoor, even if this transition was a bit less unnerving.

This time, it opened into a library. There was a light coming from somewhere, even if she couldn't see the roof. Ornate bookcases, filled to the brim and more with books surrounded them, and Sophie tripped on a stack of these tomes that had spilled onto the floor, so full the room was. And they stepped through, and it seemed like a maze again, because there were rows and rows and rows of books, but the room itself seemed to be built like a circle, and they had come from the edge, but they were making their way to the middle.

Sophie gasped as they finally rounded the last bookcase. There, a huge table in the middle, like a round table from Arthur's tales, and many opened volumes were there, their pages visible to the sky. But that hadn't been what had caught Sophie's eye. There, sitting at one of the chairs of the table, pouring over the multitude of books, was Willow.

"Willow!" Sophie cried out, and Jade was with her as she ran over to the red-haired woman, her arms wide and open, a joyful smile on her face as tears ran down her pudgy cheeks. Willow had been in the middle of turning a page, a dazed look on her face, when her eyes gravitated towards Sophie, and her mouth opened, eyes wide and surprised.

"Sophie?" A shocked smile found its way onto Willow's lips as she gathered the girl into her arms. "Oh, what are you doing here?"

"Came to…find you… mommy," Sophie admitted between happy sobs.

 _I'm here too_. Jade said, not quite sure if Willow could hear her, but the way the witch startled in surprise and then said aloud, "Jade?" was all the answer she needed.

"Willow," Sophie said, up on her adoptive mother's lap, or sort of, since it was all still in the astral realm. Jade supposed it wasn't real touch, but it felt like it. "I missed you so much."

Willow pulled the girl tighter into her arms and stroked her hair. "I missed you too."

 _Willow. We thought something had gone wrong. They've been trying to get you back for…_ Was it weeks? Days? Jade didn't know. Time was still a bit wonky with her. She'd forgotten three days and then gotten them back, out of sequence, and it was still hard to tell the order of things. _A while now_.

Willow nodded, letting go of Sophie enough so that the child could look up at the red haired witch. "Yes… I-I, I've been busy, I guess."

Jade would have frowned, had she a face. It wasn't the answer she was expecting from Willow. Especially since they hadn't encountered anything dangerous or malevolent seeming since the wolf in the forest. _They really've needed you back there. Sophie too._ Yeah, Willow had been needed while Jade was running around without a soul, but as she was sure everyone couldn't wait to inform Willow that once they got her back, she wasn't going to explain it now.

Sophie nodded her agreement. "Really, really missed you. Missed floating petals together and playing games."

Willow looked guilty, but at the same time, torn. Her eyes flitted back to the table, where open tomes awaited. "I know. I know. I've just been busy." She sighed. "I had my lesson with Aluwyn, working on my magic. But she told me about something. Something bad coming."

 _What is it?_ Jade asked, intrigued as well as concerned.

"I don't know!" Willow exclaimed. "That's what I've been trying to find out. The, the knowledge doesn't exist in our world. It can only be found _here_. In the nether realms. The… non-physical planes. It can only be stopped by what I find here. But I haven't found anything. I've looked and travelled, and read, but I haven't found anything yet."

 _So this… bad, it's coming to our world? Or isn't?_

"It's coming," Willow let out a heavy exhale. Her expression was somber, but changed to one of gentle affection when she looked at Sophie again, tucking a loose blonde curl behind her ear. "And I don't know when, or what, or like, anything." Her shoulders rose and fell in exasperation. "That's what I've been trying to find out. What it is, and how to stop it."

 _You don't have to do it alone_ , Jade pointed out. _More people will go faster than_ —

"No that's just it. Once I go back, leave this realm, I'll just forget. I won't remember what I was looking for, or anything that I've found. None of us will. And, that would just mean that when it does come, we won't be prepared!" Willow's voice rose in pitch and helplessness. "We won't have any idea what to do."

 _Well what have you found out so far?_

The edge of Willow's mouth twitched into a discouraged grimace. "It's just called the Darkness. It's so obscure… there's nothing that I've found in any of these books that talks about it. I've looked up English texts, Latin, heck, even Sumerian." She shrugged. "Absu, or Etutu in Sumerian."

 _What does that mean?_

"Just more words for darkness." Willow's shoulders fell again, and she gripped at Sophie, concern rife in her expression.

"I have to figure it out," Willow insisted. "I know—I know I haven't found much yet, but I will. And then, maybe, I can stop it here." She looked hopeful, eager almost in her hope for the best option. "And the world won't even have to know. I'd skip out on a plaque and stuff if it meant I could just beat this."

"Gotta come home," Sophie said, as serious as a little girl could. She slipped her smaller hand into Willow's larger one as the witch looked at her with empathy and uncertainty.

 _She's right. You haven't found anything yet, and it's been a while, Willow. You're needed here. In the real world. Whatever happens, we'll fight it together._

Willow's eyes looked mournful. "But… we won't even know it's coming. We won't even know I was trying to find anything on it. We won't know anything. It'll just poof. Be there one day, and I won't know how to stop it."

 _Together_ , Jade said again, a promise. _But you're needed, now. Not for something we don't even know when it'll get here._

Willow looked sadly at her adopted daughter. "I just… wanted to keep you safe."

Sophie blinked at her, giving her a smile that was no doubt as sweet as sugar, and as warm as the sun. "You will."

 _Come on, Willow_. Jade said, as encouraging as she could. _Time to wake up_.

Willow sighed, glancing once more yearningly at the books she'd piled around her. Looking again for the piece of the puzzle. Then she nodded, gripping Sophie's fingers, a light beginning to swirl around them. "Yeah. I guess it is."


	20. Chapter 20

**20**

Was a long bloody time waiting. First, the days, trying not to act like he was moping back, hoping Jade would call for him. The other little saucy Slayer chits were the ones bringing in her blood, not him. No, he'd been relieved of all that, didn't have to concern himself with it. Jade didn't need him around, and he didn't have to show up in her face. Blessing for her.

Not for him. Truth was, he could stand doing nothing for a few bloody days, not having anything to fight, if at least he could have been with her. Feeling like he was doing something, not just sitting on the outside, being a right useless git who made Jade feel guilty just by being in her sight. What the bloody hell was he supposed to do about that? Wait it out? Just cause they were immortal, didn't mean he wanted to spend the next hundred years hoping she could heal on her own. No, sodding hell, that's what he was supposed to be there for.

'Stead, he was with Angel and his ilk, 'cause not many of them wanted much to do with him. Gwen was no exception, but one of the others would distract her, and the two remaining would be civil enough. Best when Angel went to comfort Gwen, and Spike was left with Faith and Illyria. Illyria was a bit of a prig, but she was easy enough to get along with, and she wouldn't shy away from a good sparring. As for Faith, well Spike'd taken to the Dark Slayer more than he would have expected. Most of it had to do with her tolerance for Jade. Actually sounded like she admired his Slaypire, although a friendship was a bit dampered by Gunn's death, at least she didn't sound outright loathing. So although he'd always thought she came off strong before, now he found she was more tolerable, so he did tolerate her, for Jade's sake.

He'd learned that Angel and his little team of white hats had been on some sort of crucial mission, or at least they would be, but they lacked a witch to send them there into the dimension they needed to go to. Spike certainly didn't regret missing out on _that_. He'd much rather stay where the world made somewhat of a bloody sense. Los Angeles hadn't been outright terrible, although it'd been too much of an operating in shadows time for him to really enjoy himself. Hadn't really been much for fights and battles until the end. And that'd been quite a sodding battle, that was for sure. Still, he wasn't upset that he'd left Angel's team. Only so much of Peaches he could stand. Sure, they knew how the other fought, and they were rather intimidating in battle, but they'd always clash.

Love over the same woman tended to do that. Not that they had that to worry 'bout anymore, but some rivalries would always stand. And the protectiveness, too. Though Angel was convinced he'd be able to do some good with Jade, they'd had to pull Spike off of Angel the first time Captain Forehead had mentioned it. Not bloody happening. He was sore enough about the fact that Jade didn't want to see him there, he sure as hell wasn't going to let Angel go in his place. Too bloody proud for that. Faith'd been the one to step in the middle of them, broke up the fight before it'd even begun.

He'd been a bit ticked at her for that. He would have revelled in a good fight, but she wasn't wrong. And it wans't the time to drive a wedge, least not with Angel's ilk.

So he'd gone and picked a fight with the Slayers instead. They were the ones still hanging around, who hadn't yet been moved off into one of the other Bases, either because Buffy wanted them there, or because they just hadn't managed the transportation yet. That girl, Barbie-Bailey had been there. Bloody wrapped up like a mummy, especially what was left of her arm. Been crumbled when the building went down. Slayer healing could do plenty, but it couldn't regrow a limb. Still, that boy Slayer had been hanging close with her the entire time. He remembered the chit, that she was loud and expressive. Now she looked gaunt, and haunted, her caramel skin pale. She didn't say anything, but the boy—James, that was his name, he was being as gentle as a lamb, taking her recuperation into his hands.

Spike was a bit jealous of that. He'd been doing the same thing, if Jade would bloody let him.

They'd been in this room that served as a cafeteria of sorts, where food was out on the tables, including blood, and a microwave for Spike's to warm his up, so that was why he had been there. And they hadn't noticed him at first. He was used to being silent and fast, and the Slayers were so absorbed in their conversation that none of them paid attention to the little vampire tinglies they should have had. Well, almost no-one. James had looked up, his gaze narrowed somewhat, but he didn't draw any attention to the vampire. Spike had a bit more trouble wrapping it around his head than Jade did—different generations, he supposed—that James was a he and not a girl. It wasn't his looks, persay. He looked enough like a teenage boy. More muscular and broad than most of the femininely shaped Slayers, and he was tall too. It was more just the knowledge that all Slayers were female, and then there was him. Born a girl, wanted to be a man. He definitely had a different attitude about him that most of the other Slayers. . More reserved, calculating, but just as intense. He'd gotten a hit on Jade during the fight, and Spike wanted to dislike him for that, but he supposed he couldn't blame him. Couldn't blame _them_ , really. They were Vampire Slayers. Fighting them was what they were supposed to be. What they were bloody born for.

All vamps were evil. Cept for the first exception. Then two, then three. Three in all the world, in all the ages. They might know that, know that Spike was a white hat now, and he'd helped train some of the Slayerettes, but it wasn't always easy to turn off that indicator of predator and prey. They were meant to kill Vampires, and that's what he and Jade were, soul or not. Even if Jade had been just like them, once.

"Well, we know why," one of them was saying in a haughty, superior voice. "Because you had to try to capture her, not kill her. Otherwise, she wouldn't have been able to hurt as many as she did." More voices joined hers, unfamiliar to Spike, and talking over each other.

"Stupid order. Vampires equals dead. Not getting immunity."

"And how many died from that, or got hurt? And they made _us_ go, because we were willing to do what's necessary?"

"I don't believe that would have prevented the building's collapse. More inhabitants would logically have equalled more casualties," another matter-of-fact tone counteracted, and hey, Spike recognized this one. Yeah. He looked at her, sitting at one of the tables. There were pillars in this room, taking on some sort of Grecian appearance, which was likely another reason they hadn't seen him yet, from where he stood behind one of the columns. Not that he was bloody hiding. He was, however, listening.

And the one that was talking, the one that Jade said reminded her of a 'Vulcan', whatever that was, was the purple haired chit with glasses that'd talked Jade's ear off after her sparring with the Slayerettes a while back. She'd been one of those to stay behind and attempt to capture Jade alive. Despite that, she was fairly uninjured. And the stick-up-her-arse way of talking hadn't abandoned her either. Spike hid back a smirk remembering when he'd called her a 'Watcher-wannabe' and Jade had admonished him while trying to hide her smile.

"Yeah, logic this all you want, Priscilla. Thing is, we're supposed to just take our base getting destroyed and not do anything about it?"

That was her name; he'd forgotten. She narrowed her eyes behind her rectangular red glasses, raising that prim nose of hers. "I'm sure you can suggest rebuilding it if that's what you desire—"

"Ferme ta bouche, Priss," a different voice this time, another one that Spike didn't recognize, from another one of the Slayers, speaking in a French accented tone. She had short, dark brown hair that was cut bluntly across her forehead, and her cheeks. "We can't share your fascination for the Slaypire, and your desire to defend 'er at every turn."

Priscilla blinked. "Every debate needs an objecting party, or nothing is learned."

"This isn't a debate," another familiar face, the chit, Kelsey, who'd tried to sabotage Jade during the sparring match by digging her stake into herself to draw out blood. Bloody stupid of her, testing his Slaypire like that. Her hairline was far back, made more so by the tight bun she'd pulled her red hair into, and the dark eyeliner under her eyes made her expression seem all the darker. "We're just talking. Because no-one's asking for _our_ opinion, and they should. Just because Buffy has a soft spot for vampires with a soul doesn't mean we should be taking this lying down. Jade is a _killer_. And she'd dangerous and she should be—"

"Should be what?" There was a collective gasp as Spike stepped into view, the microwave still humming behind him. "Go on," Spike said, as Kelsey's eyes widened. "Askin' for your opinion, aren't I?" His tone wasn't kind, and there was an absolute silence among the Slayers gathered. Some of them had been sitting among the benches, eating, but they'd all stood up in his presence. There was only about a dozen, and they were the younger ones; he didn't see Kennedy there, or any other squad leaders. No, these were the young, perturbed teenagers who didn't like the idea of losing a fight.

"Slayed," Kelsey answered in a flat tone, once she got her wits together. "That's what we do."

"Is it, now?" Spike smirked, and he reached for one of the Slayer's abandoned plates, selecting a peach and bringing to his mouth. He took one bit, a heavy crunch laden with juices. He chewed slowly and deliberately, placing the half-eaten peach back on the table, eyes following him with varying degrees of fascination. On Kelsey's face there was disgust, but Spike was beginning to think that that was a normal for her. They seemed perturbed by him eating human food, being what he was. Although their tinglies hadn't informed them of him before, they knew what he was now. There was no mistaking it. He was a vampire, and their senses screamed _enemy_. Hell, he'd been the same way, once. Vampires and Slayers weren't meant to mix, but he'd gotten over those impulses a long time ago.

Or maybe not completely, because he found he was itching for a fight. All of these Slayers, looking back at him and thinking theirselves mighty, well sod that. He could do with a good spar, even if his wrist wasn't healed yet.

"Know all about vampires, do you?" Spike continued in a low voice. "Know every last thing, and damn the lot of us, yeah?"

"What, you want us to show them _mercy_?" The French Slayer asked in an appalled tone.

"Bollocks, no. I wan' you to kill every last vampire you see. That's your job. 'Cept of course, for the three of us. Or two." He shrugged. "I don' really care what you do with Peaches. Sure he could do wit' some more fun."

"And we're supposed to give you a free pass, just because you have a soul?" Kelsey demanded, raising her head defiantly.

Spike chuckled. Little children, the lot of them, bristling in their britches. "Wasn't free, luv. An' by all means, you can try to revoke it. Not that you could." And Spike turned his gaze from her and addressed the rest of the Slayers. "An' that goes to all of you. Bloody think you're high and mighty 'cause you lost something. Looking for someone to blame. Yeh, you think you're brave. Thinking of marching down into Jade's room an' doing what needs to be done, are you?" Whether he was right, or wrong, or even close, he didn't care. Likely at least one of them had thought of it, and his money was definitely on Kelsey.

"Couldn't face her before, some of you. Yeah, I bet the only reason y'chose to leave was just because you didn't think she deserved to be captured." His voice was mocking. "Bloody scared, some of you lot. And you should be. She's stronger an' faster than the lot of you, and if there'd been more, she'd have killed more. You weren't ready. You're used to your groups, your squads. Don't know how to act on your own. Don't know how to fight knowing you might die. So don't blame Jade now that you've suddenly discovered fear." He smirked, then. "Like you could even take her on, you chits. Bet you couldn't even handle a Master Vampire." He still had that title. No-one'd be taking that from him, soul or no.

Kelsey scoffed, although there was a hint of uncertainty on her face. "We're not scared. If we're allowed to do what we're Chosen for, we can handle ourselves. From whatever comes our way."

Spike smirked. "Y'know what would happen if you marched over to Jade's room and tried to take her on now, even while she's wounded?" There was silence, waiting. Not all the Slayers had loathing in their gaze, that sunken hatred. Some of them were just scared, like the kiddies they still were, gathered into this little meeting but weren't speaking in it either way. And they all looked at him. He could hear some of their hearts beating, like a rabbit's, rapidly and numerously. Wanted to pretend they were ready for the big games, were they? They didn't have a sodding clue.

He leaned forward and grinned. "You're not going to find out." Then he gripped the closest table and flipped it. There was a scream, and plates slipped off, crashing to the floor and breaking. He didn't hit anyone with it; he hadn't tried. "Come on, Slayers," he shouted louder, with glee. He'd wanted a fight. And it seemed at least a few of these Slayers had the stones to give it to him. "Show you can take down at least one vampire."

It was a flurry of kicks, punches that he gave and receive. One of them bloodied his nose—of course. But as it was, only about six of them took up his challenge, with Kelsey and the French Slayer at the head. Priscilla shook her head and moved to the side, although it looked like she was reaching for a notebook. Bloody hell, she was going to write some notes down. He hoped it wouldn't all be about his arse getting kicked. He definitely wasn't at his best, so it might have been a bit witless of him, but bloody hell if it wasn't fun. And he was getting his arse kicked just a bit more than he was doling out when he felt someone else join him, a grin on her face as she gleefully joined in.

The Dark Slayer. And Spike wasn't so proud that he would tell her to bugger off, since it looked like she needed to blow off the same steam that he did. She hadn't been a part of Buffy's Slayerettes for quite a while yet, preferring to fight with Angel's group instead. And fight she had, there had been no softening of the Slayer's skills. Faith was just as tenacious as ever, laughing as she gave and got. And Spike had an easier time of it, weaving and ducking and he was able to keep from jarring his bad wrist as much. Another one joined the fight; James, taking on the challenge of the six other Slayers. Spike didn't particularly need the evening of the odds, but it was still fun. Faith was a loose cannon, everywhere at once, laughing when she was hit and shaking it off. James was a calculated fighter, impeccable technique, although he was too reserved. He fought well enough, there was no mistaking that, but he didn't quite share the compassion that Spike and Faith did, that made them smile whether it was their own blood coating their face or not.

The fight didn't last long enough. Thankfully, it had been Kennedy who'd found them first. She was irritated, but with one sharp command, her Slayers backed off, and the fight was over. There might have been a mote of amusement and maybe even envy in the Slayer's dark gaze as she insisted they smarten up, rolling her eyes at Spike's 'it was just sparring' comment. She had other things on her mind, truer than not, and though she'd been a bit more pissy lately, what with Willow still in her eternal sleep, Spike had a feeling she wanted to vent her frustration in much the same way. A good ol' bruising battle.

When Buffy'd found out she hadn't been so forgiving. Faith had rolled her eyes and brushed off the blonde's tirade, leaving Spike to take an earful. Buffy had a sharp comment for James and the others during her diatribe, but most of her anger was taken out on Spike. The message was simple enough. Enough had happened without more Slayers being taken out of the game. Spike didn't much see the need for it. Had just been some sparring after all. Nothing broken, but Buffy was on edge. Not much for letting her girls take matter into their own hands and get themselves bloodied up. Big on discipline, ordering people 'round. Spike knew it was because Buffy had their best interests at heart, but still. Almost took the fun out of it, getting reprimanded by her for near an hour. Almost, but not completely. He'd needed something to get his blood flowing. Something to take his mind off Jade. He hadn't thought to thank Faith for her jumping in and didn't need to. She'd likely done it for the same reason—not the Jade part, but she was bloody bored, same as him.

Spike was almost disappointed when Angel informed him that they were leaving. Not for the Poof's sake, even if his lot—minus Gwen and Illyria were the most sympathetic to Jade's situation. They were also the only ones not part of the Slayerettes, and there was a distinction there. Most of the Slayers were too loyal and obedient to their generals to be any fun whatsoever. And they were young and a bit naïve. Not exactly who he'd choose to spend his time with.

He'd made sure it was just Faith that went in to talk to Jade and say farewell, and not Angel with recruitment in mind. Not a bloody chance. She wasn't _his_ to redeem. Faith'd been the one to suggest Spike stick to keeping away for now, although her reasoning hadn't been the most sound. She'd said that it was obvious Jade was thinking about him, and a few more days might break down her walls, crumble that pride a little. Cept it wasn't just pride, and Spike knew that. Was guilt, was shame. Not just pride. She couldn't stand to see him 'cause it hurt.

But when Buffy told him about the need to use Jade as an anchor thing for Sophie, he wasn't keeping away for that. Not a bloody chance. And she did need him. She was so terrified of herself, she'd forgotten that it'd make her feel worse, not helping. She had the softest bleeding heart, after all. So she'd gone and done it, sat herself next to the little bitty Tara-like girl and sat as still as tone.

It was a bit boring to watch, in all honesty. No-one was allowed to make a sound, although there were a few observers. Priscilla again, as if Spike should have been surprised. And Kennedy of 'course, hovering 'round her sleeping lover. Didn't even have a few words of comfort for Sophie, though Spike knew it was because Kennedy wouldn't know what to say. Wasn't a natural mother, that one.

There was nothing to do but watch. Listen to Billy's mutterings, the shimmering brightness of magic in the air, and he watched Sophie grow very still, like she was sleeping. Jade was a statue, set on her knees. Billy removed his touch from the two of them, but a glint in the air suggested a tether of magical origin. 'Least, he assumed so. Like he knew a bloody thing 'bout it. But Jade was there, so he would be too. Wasn't even allowed to smoke a cigarette though, just watch in silence. And he was, until Jade's tranquil features changed, vamping. She hadn't moved, hadn't broken from stone formation, but ridges grew over her pale forehead, and fangs jutted out from her lips.

He was wary, but he wouldn't react. As far as he could tell, Jade was still in the shared dream state with the lit'l one, and since Billy paled but didn't immediately call a halt to it, he wasn't going to do anything.

Kennedy however, was a different matter. Her eyes narrowed, flitting between Jade and Sophie, and how close they were. Billy was still nearby, but no longer in between the two of them. There was a growl then, deep and guttural, coming from Jade's throat. The Slayer picked instinct over bloody common sense and pulled a stake from her pocket, meaning to bring that to Jade, as a warning or with intent to bloody use it, Spike wasn't going to find out. The Slayer moved, so did he, although he could only step up behind Jade's shoulder while Kennedy approached from behind.

"Step away from her, you bloody git," He growled.

"I'm going to at least be ready!" Kennedy snapped back. "She has vamp face on, Spike, what do you expect me to do?"

"Get that sodding thing away from her." He was dead serious, dead calm, dead everything, and if she tried anything, she'd be the same. Dead. He didn't know what was going on in the bloody dream la la land that they were in, but just because Jade was in her vamp face didn't mean a. Sodding. Thing. Buffy'd stepped out some time ago, so there was no-one to call Kennedy down from her bloody high pedestal. He knew she was ticked. She hadn't been able to bring back Willow, which left lit'l Sophie to do the honors. Spike understood some of it. The Slaypire who'd just slaughtered her Slayers was now inches away from her family, and she wanted to protect them.

Yeah, he understood it. But that didn't mean he'd let her wave a stake in Jade's face to make herself feel better. Not a sodding chance. Not even as a warning. There was no way he'd let that stake pierce Jade's skin. Even if she did turn into a feral beast, or even a soulless one. He knew that, and it jarred him. Not exactly what a good man would decide. But he'd never quite get that title, now would he?

He stood behind Jade, one arm at the ready to knock the stake from Kennedy's hand if she tried to come any closer. Dark eyes met blue ones, and as severe as her gaze was, he was no green Slayer about to quail from it.

"You _have_ to be quiet," Billy hissed. Sweat in beads was rolling off his forehead. He too looked towards Jade, noting her frowning. Jade wasn't quite in the deep of it as the witch and her daughter were. They'd wake her. He could see from Kennedy's expression that she was considering it. She didn't have much stock in magic, wasn't too keen on it. 'Course, she had to be dating the most powerful wiccan of her generation. Think she had to get used to that, somewhat grudgingly. "Or you'll break the ritual." Billy continued, his voice more commanding than Spike would have expected from such a slip of a man.

Kennedy's dark gaze flickered to the warlock's. His eyes were also nearly that dark, more so than usual, likely due to the strain of the magic. She hadn't moved her stake, not closer to or away from Jade, still wanting to hold it nearly in position. But she was never going to get that chance, and he'd bloody let her know it.

"I bloody, _swear_ ," He said between gritted teeth. "You use that, and I'll snap your neck. Bag me another Slayer." Kennedy looked back at him, startled, first, by the venom in his tone, then her expression cooled to something equally determined. She looked at the two at her feet.

"She could attack Sophie." Kennedy seethed back. "Kill her. Think I'm just going to sit back and wait?"

"You _don't know that_ that is what's going on," Spike growled back. She wanted to be afraid of a vampire's true face, he'd show her his.

" _Shut up_ ," Billy snapped. "Both of you." He looked from Spike to Kennedy, frustrated and becoming exhausted. "If we sever the connection now, we could lose the girl as well," the warlock said pointedly. Finally. Kennedy's expression took on that of irritation, but she nodded, seeing the bloody sense of it at last. Billy's warning about what could happen if a disruption took place was clear, so the sodding hackle raising could come to an end. Kennedy hesitated, then nodded, lowering her stake-holding hand.

It didn't seem like Billy's anger was spent, but as Kennedy stepped back, and Spike did as well, keeping himself beside Jade again and away from the circle, the warlock held tight to his own advice and kept his gob closed as well.

And then it was waiting, and a sodding glaring contest between him and Kennedy. He was feeling that need again, all antsy and riled up, he wanted a good fight, and Kennedy, well she was a relentless sodding fighter. Be a more even match than the one he'd had with the bitty Slayers, that was for sure. But the thought fled with one look at Jade. No, trying to get himself bruised and bloody now would be a mistake. His place was at her side, and he wasn't sodding leaving her. Jade's face had changed again, back to normal. Serene, tranquil, so still she looked like carved marble. How could anyone accuse _her_ of threatening a child? It wasn't sodding possible, the bleeding heart that she was, even knowing what he did. As long as she had her soul: never. Yet they all looked at her like she was just going to revert at any second. Not while that soul was around her neck. Not a sodding chance.

"They're coming out of it," Billy informed them, looking relieved and considerably paler than when he had first started the whole magic mojo show. And he was right. The heartbeats in the middle, which had been serene and slow—too slow—started beating faster, followed by audible inhales. Not so from his Slaypire, but she woke first, her eyes opened, a remarkable, blazing blue in the whiteness of the chamber they were in. She blinked, hard, frowns creasing her forehead.

"Sophie? Willow?" She demanded, looking down at the still limp bodies. But there was no cause for concern, because their eyes were opening too, Sophie waking with a little gasp. Her eyes were for Jade first, turned in her direction, and she gave her a small smile for the Slaypire. Jade nodded in quiet relief, answering back with a smile of her own. It was barely a curve of her lips, but it was there. Sodding good to see.

"Willow?" Sophie asked then, turning into a squeal as she saw the Witch sit up from behind her. Willow was brushing loose pieces of her red hair back from her face, looking as disoriented as the other two. But she shook it off enough to smile and take the little girl into her arms, hugging her close. "Oh, Willow!"

Kennedy stood there, relief on her usually phlegmatic expression. Her shoulders rose and fell with a deep, grateful sigh, and she joined Sophie and Willow on the floor, wrapping her arm around the witch, another resting lightly on the back of Sophie's skull. Family was reunited again, and it was good to see. Something back in the world that was right, after all the sodding hell that'd broken loose lately.

"I'm here, sweetie." Willow said to Sophie, then Kennedy's fingers were on the witch's jaw, turning Willow to Kennedy for a kiss, their lips meeting fleetingly, but passionately.

"You scared the crap out of me," Kennedy admonished her lover sternly, but there was an obvious affection in her tone.

"Sorry, baby," Willow said, looking properly contrite.

Spike snorted. Witch had never figured out that there'd always been consequences to using her magic, didn't she?

He was aware of a conversation in the corner of the room between Billy and one of the Slayers. "Let Buffy know that it was successful, and Willow's back." Spike thought it slightly amusing that the warlock wasn't eager to carry that information to her on his own, get himself a right pat on the shoulder for his good work, but he slumped back at the wall after that, obviously exhausted.

Jade had picked herself off of the floor, looking dazed, but not otherwise drained. There was a soft look in her eyes from looking at the embracing family. And he wished it could stay. She looked tranquil like that, happy, at peace for one sodding minute.

"Willow," A voice called, rife with the same relief as the others, and Buffy strode into the room with purpose, although she didn't throw herself into the hugging fest, waiting for Kennedy to help her family to their feet. "You're back."

"Yeah," Willow answered, looking guilty. "I guess I was gone for a while?"

"Bloody right," Spike muttered under his breath.

"Yeah, that's for sure," Buffy said, trying not to sound too critical, but she couldn't completely hide her displeasure. Lot had happened while Willow had been away, and Buffy didn't really know how to deal with her own guilt without blaming someone else. Buffy looked over at him and Jade. He hadn't realised that Jade had moved over to stand near him, but she had. "You can go back to your room now," The blonde Slayer said.

"Here." Kennedy detached herself from Willow to toss Spike a small metal projectile—the keys. Dark eyes looked grudgingly from Spike over to Jade. "Thanks," Kennedy said gruffly to the Slaypire. Gruffly, but it sounded sincere enough.

Spike thumbed the keys in his hand. Cold metal, but not colder than he. He was partly afraid that if he unlocked her now, she'd just walk herself back to her room, and he wouldn't be wanted to go with her. He was selfless with Jade, mostly, but not that selfless. He couldn't go back to being ignore. "Come on, Super girl," he said to her, bloody hoping he wouldn't throw it in his face in front of everyone.

But she only nodded in quiet acceptance, throwing one more lingering look at Sophie, who was hanging off of her adoptive mum, happy as a clam, and followed Spike without a complaint.


End file.
